Andie | 30 | She/Her | Demisexual | BA in Lit. Dork, potty mouth, smut peddler, crybaby. Brain broke, no requests. Due to mature content, this blog is 18+ only. I do not consent for my work to be used with, for, or by AI.
Summary | You should’ve known better than to bring a mysterious plant aboard the Going Merry. When you run into some strange side effects from its pollen, Sanji offers to lend you a hand.
Warnings & Notes | 18+, fem!reader, sex pollen, smut, porn with v little plot, friends-to-lovers, fingering, oral (f receiving), some spit play, lil bit of dirty talk, unprotected sex (oops sanji cums inside)
Author's Note | Impatiently awaiting the release of S2 got me inspired to write a personal favorite trope of mine. I've never written a sex pollen fic before, so I hope everyone's happy with the results (and that I got Sanji's characterization right lol)!
WC | 8.2k
God, you were so stupid. As the crew’s botanist, it was your job to know plants, to determine what was safe or deadly, what could serve as a salve or a poison.
Yet, the flower you encountered on a recent stop to an exotic port - beautiful, bright, and fragrant - left you perplexed. You couldn’t identify it immediately, and your curiosity got the better of you, so you eagerly brought it aboard the Going Merry for study.
And now, you understood why the salesperson seemed to be laughing at you as they happily accepted your coin; you should’ve known that something so pretty would be dangerous.
The damned thing was an aphrodisiac, a kind of strange stimulant that you’d never encountered before. Once you’d finally found an entry on it amidst the pages of your botanical reference books, your stomach dropped with dread. You’d had the plant aboard the ship for days, though thankfully it had been secluded to the closet serving as your sad excuse for a room - you were cramped in there with your books and tools and that stupid flower, none the wiser to what it was slowly doing to you.
You’d been exposed to its pollen for days, breathing it into your lungs as you pondered over it, touching the delicate petals and coming away with soft grain on your fingertips. At least you weren’t dumb enough to have ever thought about consuming any part of the plant - that would have made things truly unbearable, as you’d come to learn that that was the fastest means for its reactions to take hold.
At first, you thought maybe the flower wouldn’t have any effect on you, considering that you hadn’t felt any different in those days isolated with it. And even once you’d found another entry in your encyclopedia detailing its slow burn results, you thought that perhaps you’d incorrectly assessed it, again because you felt nothing.
But after three days around the thing you felt… something. A twisting in your stomach, a heat stoking at your core. You tried to ignore it as the day went on, but with each passing minute you could feel something taking over - Usopp’s smile made you antsy and nervous, Nami’s pretty legs crossing one over the other shot desire through you like lightning. Shit, you had no business getting all worked up about your friends like that, but it was simply out of your control.
And it only got worse when Sanji tried his usually fruitless flirty tactics, lingering close enough that you could smell his enticing musk, his suddenly silky voice forcing you to clench your legs. Once that happened, you all but booked it away from everyone else and locked yourself up, only leaving your room to chuck the offensive flower overboard in a panic. There was no way you’d risk keeping it here even a second longer, because just your luck the pollen could somehow get to the rest of the crew, too.
You’d already been cooped up in your room for an entire day, feigning illness. Everyone had stopped bothering you after you practically screamed at them to get the hell away from you. Save for Sanji, annoyingly, who simply couldn’t help but check in on you regularly, offering food and drink and even company.
Sanji had probably done so a dozen times before you couldn’t take it anymore.
You caved to your impulses, throwing open your door and yanking him inside abruptly. You pinned him against the door, hands twisted in the front of his jacket, eyes crazed as you looked into his face. You could feel his body heat, could smell him overwhelmingly. Sanji - blissfully unaware of the state you were in - looked far too pleased to be pressed between you and the door, eyes gleaming and grin cheeky.
You loathed to tell him what was going on - you didn’t want any of your fellow Straw Hats to know about this embarrassing predicament you’d landed yourself in. The plan was to stay locked up until it passed, but Sanji just wouldn’t leave you alone.
“Look asshole,” You spoke through your teeth, body clenching at that stupid smile on his face, a wave of heat washing through you, “there’s… an issue and it’d be better if you stopped bothering me.”
“An issue?” Shit, was his voice always that hot? Despite the twisting in your belly, your glower darkened in an attempt to dampen this ridiculous pining.
Frustratingly, his wolfish grin grew larger, and with a sharp intake of breath, you dropped your gaze before you could do something bad, “Yes, an issue, and it’s not your business, so go away.”
“You don’t look so good,” Sanji began, tone sultry - or was that just in your head? As if he was testing your limits, he lifted the back of his hand to your forehead, and you all but jumped with a gasp, “God, you’re on fire. Maybe a little tea to make you feel better?”
“No.” You relinquished your grip on his jacket, needing as much distance between you two as possible, though this damn room was so cramped it wasn’t nearly enough. Sanji looked you up and down curiously, and even that had the unfortunate effect of causing desire to pool white hot inside you.
“Soup?” He offered in a taunting voice, evidently finding your current state amusing, not realizing the enormity of it. His brow furrowed some as he moved towards you, to which you pointed in harsh warning.
“Sanji, just go.” You insisted, trying to resist your urge to jump his bones, to drag him back towards you without restraint.
Though still grinning impishly, he held his hands up in surrender, and, shit, that look on his face dared to make you wet, “I don’t like seeing your beautiful self unwell like this, I’m just trying to take care of you.”
Unexpectedly, you moaned at Sanji’s words; his flirtatious remarks had never worked on you before, and you so wished you’d had more control than this.
Your illicit sound caused both your eyes and Sanji’s to widen, and shamefully you tried to step back, but your legs bumped your mattress, meaning you had nowhere to run as you looked about yourself in a panic.
Though there was uncertainty in his gaze, Sanji’s eyes still gleamed with mirth, he still smirked with playful intent. He gave you another slow once over, eyes crawling the length of your body; you had to press your lips tightly together to hold back any more noises that dared to come out of you, your thighs clamping stiffly.
When his gaze eventually trailed back up to meet yours, you clenched your hands, nails digging into your palms, feeling tense all over with how desperate you were for some kind of release. There was something salacious about Sanji’s stare - you could no longer tell if it was real or your imagination. As if he could sense the effect he was having on you, he grinned wickedly.
“If you do need anything,” he started, voice so much more appealing than it had any right to be. He took a careful step towards you, looking between your eyes intently, “you know where to find me.”
A small whine caught in your throat, and you prayed it was quiet enough to be imperceptible. You had to drop your gaze, feeling utterly flushed with heat. But your luck had already run out for the day, because Sanji dipped his head some, and you caught that alluring musk of him again, making you stir.
“What is going on with you?” He teased before stepping back. He turned, hand twisting the door knob when you abruptly blurted out.
“That stupid flower did something to me!” Your words came out fast, slurring together; you weren’t sure what came over you to babble without a thought, but the pollen had seriously dampened your impulse control.
Sanji stopped and quickly spun back towards you. No longer was his expression flirtatious; instead, his brow knotted in concern, his hands grasping your shoulders before you even had the chance to stall him. You took a sharp breath, heat coursing deep in your center and head flustered from his touch.
“What do you mean? Are you okay?” Sanji’s worried tone just made you crave him even more, his instinct to take care of you way too enticing right now; fuck, when would this pass?
“I’m fine,” You squeaked out, thighs rubbing together desperately, “It's just…”
“It’s what?” With a focused look, Sanji felt your forehead again, then pressed his hand gently to your cheek, “You really are on fire, love, maybe we need--”
Again, your words spilled out like a tsunami, “I need you to stop touching me or I’m going to lose it!”
But Sanji didn’t move, so taken aback that he wasn’t sure what to do with you. His expression twisted that little bit more, driving you insane.
“Sorry, what?”
“The plant!” You grabbed his wrists, sure that you must look like a crazed woman right about now. You tried to push Sanji away, but he stood firm, “The pollen was an aphrodisiac and I’ve been unintentionally dosing myself with it for days! So, please Sanji, I feel like I’m about to burst and it's already embarrassing enough that I told you, so go!”
Sanji showed about a hundred emotions in the span of only a few seconds - worry, confusion, understanding, confusion again, until ultimately landing on that dreaded, impish inquisitiveness of his. You could see the exact moment it all clicked, that gleam of delight at your expense, that relishing curiosity. You practically threw his wrists away when you realized that you were still clutching them, groaning deeply with frustration.
Oh, how you loathed the glee in Sanji’s expression; you’d try to slap it away, except you feared doing so would just make you wetter than you already were. As he looked you over again with that trademark grin, you clenched your legs again, toes curling.
“Aphrodisiac?” Was he taunting you? “So that means--”
“Yes, it means I’m horny, okay!?” You hated how feral and aggressive you sounded, hated the way your attitude only seemed to bring him greater entertainment. With a dramatic, vulgar sigh, you dragged your hands down your face, turning away; when your shoulder bumped Sanji’s in your retreat, you jolted with a gasp.
“Well, isn’t that something?” God, he was enjoying this far too much.
“Sanji--!”
“Wait, wait.” He insisted. You closed your eyes, trying to take a soothing breath, but your body just wouldn’t calm down, the desire burning inside you only grew hotter now that he was in on your secret, “How long is this going to last?”
“I really don’t feel like talking about it right now!”
“I’m only asking--” You cut him off with a mean groan, whipping back around to glare at him. Once more, he held up his hands, but the shit-eating grin on his face was enough to make you throb. He waited a beat before trying again, licking his lips far too sinfully for your liking, “Maybe… I can help?”
“Oh my god.” You whined, your body yearning in spite of your better judgement, his suggestion making your pussy clench with the need to be touched. Foolishly, you met his eyes, which only did the job of making you want to throw yourself at him, “Sanji, don’t be stupid--”
“Is it stupid?” He insisted, stepping into your personal space again, your head dizzy with yearning. He ducked his head, eyes staring into yours earnestly, a look not quite like his usual coy ones, “Because, look, would I enjoy a little romp with you? Obviously.” You mewled smally, to which surprise briefly flashed across Sanji’s face, “So, if you think it might help, then by all means, just say so.”
You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your desire in check, because you feared that you could burst any second now. Though you tried desperately to look mean and glaring, you felt far from intimidating; if that wanton look on Sanji’s face was anything to go by, then you failed miserably.
You wished that you wanted to say no. Oh, that would be so much better than agreeing to Sanji’s offer, because doing something like that with your crewmate - your friend - sounded like it would open up a whole new kind of trouble. But just the idea of it made you squirm, made your body coil like a spring; even just a moment’s thought about the things you could do made your eyes flutter.
You knew better than to go along with it. You weren’t so far gone that you couldn’t think, after all - you knew this could be bad. Unfortunately, the pollen had other ideas.
“No one can know.” You bite, body clenching again.
Sanji shrugged agreeably, playing it casually, “Of course.”
“And it won’t happen again.”
“Sure.”
“… Okay.”
“Okay.”
You stared at each other for a long beat, your chest heaving, Sanji’s eyes hooded as he shamelessly took in your expression.
God, you hoped you wouldn’t regret this.
The space between you was small already, the warmth of his breath across your cheeks causing you to shudder; the corner of his mouth quirked up in response, finally sending you over the edge.
You flung yourself at Sanji like a woman starved, winding your arms around his neck, bodies crashing together ungracefully. He was so damn sturdy, barely stumbling back as your lips feverishly met, teeth clumsily clashing. His arms wrapped around your middle, hands firmly gripping your back, fingers flexing possessively.
The moan that escaped you was downright sinful, your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest, body like static beneath Sanji’s exploratory touch. Fuck, you couldn’t tell if this was helping or hurting, your core hot and cunt pulsing, your jumping under his tender fingertips. It was pathetic the way you clung to him like a lifeline, bodies flush and mouths brazen.
As your fingers tangled in Sanji’s hair, a groan rumbled in his chest that made you frenzied, your kisses growing sloppier, tongue snaking between his lips. God, his taste was intoxicating, his tongue twining with yours, his hands unyielding nonetheless gentle as he groped at your body. Rolling your hips against his, you made yourself whimper at the feel of his firm chest, his pelvis pressing to yours.
Maybe you should have done this sooner.
Determined not to break from Sanji’s luscious lips just yet, you blindly spun the two of you around, his calves bumping the bed. Understanding what you wanted, he gripped you tightly while dropping down atop the mattress, drawing you into his lap as you moaned again.
Mouths heatedly pressed together, you shifted to better straddle Sanji’s fit legs, his cock twitching near your center. If your head wasn’t already spinning you may have been embarrassed by how wet you were, soaking through your panties.
Sanji’s hands wandered, squeezing your ass hard enough to make you gasp, using his grip to grind your hips down against his. You tugged roughly at his hair as you moved together, rutting back and forth along his growing length, clenching with the need to be filled.
Your mouths were greedy, tongues feverish, kissing as if desperate for one another’s air, noisy sounds of pleasure humming in both your throats. Sanji’s hips bucked just right beneath you, meeting you in time with the deep grind of your hot pussy.
When finally he broke from the kiss, a string of drool connected your lips, a whine sounding from your throat. Keeping up his slow, steady rhythm, Sanji met your eyes darkly, drinking you in with utter desire; you damn near came just from that look alone.
“However you want me,” he whispered against your lips, noses brushing, breath mingling. Your hips stuttered, to which he greedily grasped your ass and matched your rhythms again, “Yours to do with as you please.”
“Fuck--” You couldn’t help but gasp, feeling impossibly more turned on. You almost hated him for how damn effortlessly those sultry words came to him, grinding your hips roughly against his cock, delighting in the way his eyes momentarily crossed, “Promise?”
A short, lustful laugh escaped Sanji, his fingers groping you nice and tight, “Like this, love, I’d promise you anything.”
Another desirous sound whined in your throat as you captured his lips in a searing kiss, fire scorching bright inside you. Hips rutting rapaciously, your hands wandered down his neck and torso, shoving at his jacket as if it personally offended you. Urgently, Sanji threw it off before he grasped at you again, not wanting to lose a moment of exploring your body.
The flex of his muscles beneath your hands was maddening, taut and strong and just asking to be bit and kissed. You frantically worked the buttons of his shirt, nearly popping them as you worked your way down, down, down till the damned thing was open. Your fingers slid along Sanji’s washboard abs, causing you to groan because, fuck, this was the body he’d kept covered up all this time?
As if you couldn’t trust your touch, you split from Sanji’s lips to lean back and drink in the sight of his body, hissing desirously at how damn good he looked. Your nails scratched up his sides, over his pecs and abs, and when your lustful eyes turned back towards his, you practically keened at the focused way he was watching you.
Holding eye contact, you leaned down to nip at his chest, causing him to yelp; your body tightened as you giggled hungrily, mouth trailing up his collarbone and neck, kissing just below his jaw. Sanji leaned his head back as he twitched between your legs, letting you ravage his skin, biting and sucking and kissing to your hearts content, hickeys or teeth marks be damned.
As you all but consumed him, Sanji’s hands slid up the back of your shirt, palms hot as he traced your skin, arching into his touch. Both of your hips had fallen out of rhythm, and so Sanji reached up to grip the back of your neck, pulling you away so he could meet your eyes again.
“Let me touch you.” It sounded like both a question and an instruction, your cunt tight with utter desire. You nodded, catching your breath, and then Sanji abruptly flipped you onto your back.
Splayed on the bed, you ogled as Sanji brushed back his hair and dropped his shirt to the floor. You bit your lip, eyes hooded as he crawled over you; he pressed a single, dizzying kiss to your mouth, pulling back before you could latch onto him again.
As if understanding your urgency to be touched, Sanji’s hands reached beneath your shirt again, yanking it over your head speedily, exposing your hot skin to the cool air before he did the same thing with your shorts. You wiggled under his wandering gaze, drinking in every curve and blemish of your body like you were a three-course meal.
He lowered his mouth to your chest, biting your breast as you had done to him earlier; you bucked and gasped, feeling his smile against you. He sucked at your skin, insistently creating a hickey just above your bra, meanwhile reaching between your warm bodies, fingertips grazing over your pelvis, to which you whined.
Sanji sighed longingly as his hand moved lower and lower, teasing at you through your thin, damp panties; you clenched with a wanton mewl, desperate for so much more of him. Kissing far too tenderly over the hickey he left behind, his mouth trailed down, tongue gliding a wet trail along your stomach, ghosting along the flimsy fabric keeping him from you. For a moment, you held your breath, hands eagerly twisting in the bedsheets.
Hooking his fingers in your panties, Sanji tugged them down to your ankles, his hot breath teasing near your clit as you shucked the undergarment away with a wiggle of your foot.
He lingered painstakingly, and you looked down your nose at him, brow knotted with impatience, mouth agape as you sucked in a breath of air. His eyes were large and black with lust as he, too, glanced back towards you, expression both sweet yet taunting. You were tempted to reach out and grab his hair, to guide him towards you, but even in this fervor you managed to refrain, though you weren’t sure how long that flimsy self control would last.
“Look at you…” He sounded awestruck, and the lust in his tone made longing swirl tight around your heat, toes curling.
Now, you did reach out, fingers weaving into his hair a little more roughly than intended; it felt as if you had less control the more your desire continued to stew.
“Sanji, please.” You whispered keenly. The sound of his name on your lips like that stirred something deep in him, his gaze dark and craving, “I… shit, I need you.”
He grinned wickedly, though even the taunting in his tone was flirtatious, “About to come undone already?”
You nodded, eyes pleading, “I’m like a fucking cat in heat.”
Sanji chuckled, breathing hot against your clit, causing you to twitch, “Oh, love, I’ve got you.”
And with that, he plunged a finger inside you without warning, a surprised mewl leaping from your lips as you threw your head back. God, there was no way in hell that alone could feel so good, and yet your eyes crossed, hand flexing in Sanji’s hair. He, too, groaned at the feel of you as if utterly enthralled.
Under his breath, he groaned faintly; you were so wet, clenching around his finger, making his cock twitch in his trousers. He pumped once, twice, before sliding a second digit between your slick folds with ease, wasting no time or teasing; your body was so utterly ready for him that it was intoxicating.
The pace of his thrusts steadily picked up, your hips rolling with his movements, gasps escaping your parted lips. Your head lulled, swimming with lust as your body pulsed around him, limbs twisting pleasurably.
Fingering you greedily, the scent of your desire hit Sanji, his hips bucking against your leg in need of friction.You felt nearly pathetic, the way you rocked against his hand, the way you writhed with moaning satisfaction. Even his heavy breathing, hot on your inner thigh, sent burning waves up your spine; and when he pressed the heel of his palm against your clit, you fucking shuddered.
God, you thought this would help, but Sanji’s fingers buried inside your cunt only seemed to make you wetter and needier, as if nothing would be enough to satiate you. And when he spread his fingers wide, stretching you out deliciously, you cursed that damned plant, even as pleasured whines slipped past your lips.
As he fingered you nice and deep, Sanji’s mouth trailed hot, wet kisses along the inside of your leg, sighing contently at the taste of your salty skin on his tongue. His fingers hooked, curving up into your cervix, palm steadily massaging your clit as you keened unabashedly, toes curling and knees shaking, yanking roughly at his hair. With a hiss, he bit your flesh, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to surprise you, your hips bucking again.
“Fu-uck--!” You whined, his hand unrelenting as your eyes crossed, orgasm washing over you with a surge. For that split second, it was utter bliss, vision starry and limbs melting; but like some cruel joke, your body almost immediately grew tense and tight and desperately unfulfilled again.
That stupid plant.
You tugged encouragingly at Sanji’s hair, meeting his gaze over the swell of your heaving breasts - he was still knuckles deep inside you, eyes blown and an enthralled grin on his lips. You caught your breath, pussy clamping around his fingers, causing him to moan deep inside his chest; your body shook from the aftershocks of pleasure.
“I need more,” You instructed breathily, more like a plea than anything else. You felt as if your body was crawling, causing shakes and pulses, a twisting heat growing so big inside you that it hurt. Oh, that small bit of logic still within you was embarrassed at the way you were practically begging Sanji, needing him to make you feel good.
“My pleasure…” He said huskily, immediately tossing all of your embarrassment out the window because, fuck, he was so hot right now, making you feel so good, taking care of you like this--
Then his mouth was on your clit in the next instant, and you could have fucking burst right then and there. Your hips bucked up against his warm tongue, Sanji using his free hand to keep you down, fingers flexing in the fat of your thigh. A contented hum vibrated in his throat and your pussy, making your knees quake.
Bursts of pleasure pulsed through you as Sanji sucked your clit, his fingers continuing their wanton pumping, slower and deeper than before, pressing delectably against your cervix again now that he realized just how frenzied it made you. Your hand twisted in his hair, pulling eagerly as your hips rocked against his mouth, eyes rolling back with sinful mewls. Fuck, his tongue was goddamn perfect, swirling where you were most sensitive, lapping from pussy to clit, teasing as he slowly pulled his fingers from you before plunging back in.
Your legs were already shaking again, buzzing with satisfaction; Sanji groaned deeply at the sweet taste of you, and your knees nearly clamped around his head with a gasp.
His fingers stopped pumping, pulling out of you so he could ravage your pussy with his mouth instead. You jolted as his tongue dove between your folds, his hands tightly grabbing your legs to keep you still.
You threw your head back, drool pooling on your tongue as you rode against Sanji’s mouth, tugging his hair harshly, struggling to keep your legs spread for him. He consumed you like a man starved, licking along the strip of your cunt, diving into you, nipping your clit. Every single touch was like electricity shooting through your veins, body twitching and jumping, at the will of Sanji’s touch.
His tongue was feverish, growing sloppier and more insistent, fucking in and out of you, his own hungry sounds driving you crazy. Your body felt out of your control as you writhed, legs shaky in Sanji’s hands, hips stuttering with each lap of his tongue, fingers twisting tightly in his hair.
“Fuck, please, please--!” You muttered a nearly incoherent mantra as your hips rolled greedily, hands tugging harshly at his scalp. Sanji knew exactly what he was doing to you, mouth gaining urgency, causing your legs to nearly clasp around him again; but still, he kept them wide open in his grip. The titillation was practically unbearable as you wiggled beneath him, crying with delight, quaking as your vision went black with another earth shattering orgasm.
As you came, eyes crossed and expletives escaping you, Sanji continued his ravaging, eating you out as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste. The stimulation was nearly overwhelming, whining high in your throat, hands yanking at his hair again and again because you felt so damn good that it nearly hurt.
He finally relented, coming up for a gasp of air. His lips were shiny with your slick as he grinned wickedly, delighting in your blissed out expression while crawling up your body.
Catching your breath, that scorching heat reignited like an unscratchable itch, causing you to groan desperately in Sanji’s face. He chuckled, an enticing rumble in his chest that made your body ache for him. You could smell your fragrance on his mouth as he hovered over you, arms braced either side of your head as your noses brushed.
“You alright, love?” He spoke against your lips, the taste of yourself drawing another hum from inside you.
You wound your arms tight around Sanji’s neck, catching his lips in an impassioned, feverish kiss. Hooking your ankles around the back of his legs, you drew his body atop yours, rolling your hips against his straining erection and causing him to grunt. Your tongue snaked past his lips, tasting yourself everywhere.
As you rubbed your body with his, Sanji’s hand cupped your jaw with a surprising tenderness. There was something almost romantic about it, and you found that thought so intimidating that you abruptly broke away from the kiss, darkened eyes finding his urgently.
You ached again, the lustful needs of your body feeling like a drug high, pussy still wet and desperate, an ache coiling greedily within you. Sanji’s dick teased you through his trousers, and you ground against it insistently.
“Sanji,” the way you whined out his name caused his cock to twitch, both of you gasping with hunger. Normally, you wouldn’t speak so plainly, but considering you weren’t exactly in your right mind, the words just spilled out of you, “It’s getting worse.” When he raised his brow, you elaborated while slowly grinding against him, “Everytime I come, I need more.”
Sanji’s jaw hung slack, enjoying the way you moved against him, enraptured by your unrestrained ache for him. His voice was low and erotic against your lips, “I told you to use me, didn’t I?”
You whined again desperately. Even as you burned for him, you managed to taunt, “Confident you can keep up?”
But even that quip conjured thoughts of all the ways he could make your body feel good, and your legs flexed hungrily around him. If you weren’t so high with need, you would have glowered at that dangerous look he gave you, but unfortunately, it just made you want him more.
“For you? Oh, I could do this all day.”
You tightened like a spring, a desperate moan in your throat as you clumsily began to fumble with Sanji’s trousers, practically ripping them off in your haste. For a moment, the two of you were an awkward tangle of limbs as he shoved out of the remainder of his clothing, skin hot and sweaty to the touch, dick grazing along your stomach and pelvis as you grew hungrier for him. Your nails raked along every bit of skin you could reach, dragging along his abs and waist, trailing down his back to the curve of his ass, where you dug in just a little.
Sanji propped himself up on his hands, drinking in the sight of you as you ripped off your bra, the final offensive article of clothing flung away blindly. You took the opportunity to cast your gaze down between you, licking your lips as you eyed Sanji’s cock, red and swollen and just right.
God, you couldn’t believe that you’d just written him off this entire time, that all this time you ignored this striking man with his wicked smile and sultry eyes, his goddamn perfect physique and--
“Droolin’, love?” He teased, drawing your eyes back up. Yes you wanted him deep inside you, you wanted to take all of him; but you weren’t so foggy with desire that you couldn’t taunt him back.
“Are you?” You ask with a jeering curve of your brow. Impulsively, you opened your mouth good and wide, sticking your tongue out flat with a look of anticipation.
Sanji let out a long breath at the sight of you like this, his eyes growing dark as he grasped your jaw. Much as you would have enjoyed him to be rougher and more domineering, it wasn’t quite in his nature; no, his grip was firm yet careful, finger and thumb squeezing your cheeks as he drew you up to meet him halfway. Without breaking eye contact, he spit into your open mouth, your body shivering, surprised that he followed through with it. You swallowed with a cheeky, flirtatious smirk.
“Fuck…” Sanji muttered, dragging you up for a brief, searing kiss. You grabbed at his hips, nails digging into his skin, growing impatient for him to make you feel good again. His lips broke from yours, pressing your foreheads together, “How do you want me?”
The question alone made you whine, cunt clenching. The instruction left your mouth before you had time to think about it, “On your back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sanji grinned, one arm wrapping around your middle and hastily swapping places with you, sheets tangling as you nearly fell off the edge of the narrow bed.
Your head was swimming with need now that you were on hand and knee over Sanji, so hungry for him that you wasted no time ogling his body or nipping at his skin the way you normally would with a lover. No, you were desperately wet, and you needed him inside you now or else you may lose it.
You felt like an animal, the way you situated yourself over Sanji, reaching between you to give his hard cock a single pump in your hand before guiding him to your entrance.
Staring into one another’s eyes, you sat back on his dick in one slick motion, taking him to the hilt as you both groaned shamelessly, his thighs flexing beneath your ass. You lingered for a moment, cunt pulsing around him, Sanji’s hands gripping your hips, chests heaving. And as if he lit the fire inside you, you began to bounce up and down the length of his shaft.
“My god…” He growled, eyes back and fingers squeezing your hips as you bobbed on his dick, so goddamn slick and wet, bracing your hands atop his sturdy chest. He filled you so well, thick head pushing into you with each drop, sliding between your walls like he was meant to be there.
Oh, being on top was a bad idea, you realized as your eyes crossed, your neediness making you sloppy as you rolled your hips, your bouncing rhythmless as you chased your high. But it felt so good, every damn part of you, the fullness of Sanji’s cock making you dizzy, the way he stretched you out, the way he held onto you almost possessively. Shit, you couldn’t tell what felt best because you were so sensitive, going wild for how deep he reached, for the way his head caught inside you because he couldn’t pull out at this angle, the bit of pressure against your clit each time you moved.
You leaned back, steadying your palms just above Sanji’s knees, the shift causing his dick to meet your cervix, your head lulling back with a cry. You ground your hips in an eager, hectic pattern, clenching and whining at how full you were, gasping as Sanji bucked up into you to get that little bit deeper.
Shit, you were too horny and wet, that damned pollen making you feel like you were on the verge again, every minuscule movement felt good enough to make you cum already. And you knew you would, over and over again, Sanji’s cock fitting like a glove, thrusting against your sensitive clit, filling you to the brim--
“Fucking made for me--” You whimper like a woman possessed as you cum suddenly, abruptly, overwhelmingly. Your nails dug into Sanji’s thighs, body going rigid as you stared up at the ceiling. He twitched inside you, the both of you moaning together at the sensation. If you had the wherewithal, you would have been embarrassed by the thing you blurted out, by the fact that you came so fast again, but already desire was winding back through your body with no end in sight.
“Another one already, love?” Sanji whispered with a mystified grin, lazily rocking his hips with yours, hands trailing up to grope your waist and breasts. All you could do was hum with satisfaction, back arching as he tweaked your nipples. He gave a particularly deep, calculated thrust into you, delighting in the way you mewled, “Ah, but you’re not done yet.”
“Not even close.” You challenged, even as your voice wavered.
Sanji squeezed your breasts firmly, urging you to lean down towards him; he kissed you chastely before dipping his head, your back arching as his tongue swirled one of your peaked nipples.
As he bit and sucked at your breast, his hand massaged your other; his hips slowly began to thrust up into you again. Whimpers spilled past your lips over and over, Sanji’s cock hitting you a little harder each time, his tongue and teeth on your nipple causing your head to spin.
His hands trailed down to grab your ass while his mouth continued ravaging you, giving one cheek a firm slap before pressing you down on his cock. You were so hungry for him, needing more even with him balls deep, needing him like fresh water.
Sanji sucked a dark hickey on the inside of your breast, lips popping as he broke away from your skin. When he looked up at you through his lashes, you cupped his jaw and kissed him earnestly, which was far too intimate considering that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. The thrust of his hips faltered for a moment, as if he, too, realized the warmth of it, but he quickly sped up his rhythm as if to compensate, skin slapping skin as you groaned into one another’s mouths.
When you gasped for air, you kept your forehead to Sanji’s, the angle of his pelvis rubbing against your clit making you clench and shake. His breath was hot on your lips as his cock drove into you, hand slapping your ass again just to hear you whine.
“I ne-eed--” Your voice hitched, his dick burying particularly good into you, “--need deeper.”
Sanji huffed out an ensnared laugh, thrusting inside you then lingering there. He rolled you against him, captivated by the way your pussy tightened around him, “Deeper?”
You bit down on your lip as he taunted you, grinding your hips together, “Mhm…”
Sanji’s nose grazed along your cheek and down your neck, mouth ghosting along your skin as he spoke lowly, “In that case: up.”
He stopped grinding, spanking your ass again encouragingly. You pushed yourself back to sit atop him, and Sanji’s brows rose pointedly.
“Up.” He repeated, and you then realized what he meant. You lifted off his cock, crying at how empty you were as Sanji pushed out from under you. As he stood, you eyed him up and down like a slab of meat, sighing longingly at his goddamn hypnotically perfect cock. He grasped your chin, tilting your head back to look up at him; he looked good like this, taking charge and commanding.
His gaze trailed from your eyes to your mouth then back to your eyes, a silent instruction that you eagerly obliged, opening your mouth so he could spit into it again. Your cunt tightened as his saliva hit your tongue, wet and needy for him to be back inside you.
Sanji gave you a swift kiss before releasing your chin, watching through hooded eyes as you arranged yourself doggy style before him, though your narrow bed forced you to brace your hands on the wall beside it. You peered back over your shoulder, arching your back impatiently as he simply took a moment to ogle your alluring body.
Just as you were about to whine with frustration, Sanji leaned over you, grabbing at your hips and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and neck. You pushed your ass back, the full head of his cock brushing against your curves; he took in a deep breath of your scent, face in your hair, causing you to shudder.
His lips were so soft and sweet along your skin - too sweet, considering the carnal need eating you from the inside out. Maybe under any other circumstances you would have enjoyed Sanji’s tenderness - not that you’d dare tell him as much - but at the moment, all you could do was groan insistently while pressing your ass back.
“Sanji, fuck me.” You urged, causing him to lift his head and meet eyes over your shoulder; you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but there was something serious in his gaze. Just as quickly as you noticed it, though, it was gone, Sanji leaning back to regard your ass, one hand squeezing it while he grabbed his erection in the other, lining himself up with your entrance.
His head nudged at your cunt, teasing up and down the slit, prodding at your clit. Just the baiting alone made you yearn, back arching again needily. He met your eyes once more as he slowly sunk into you, this new angle causing vulgar moans to escape you as he so easily bottomed out, filling you completely. Fuck, he got so deep, head just prodding at your uterus, your pussy constricting around his girth.
He lingered, as if allowing you to adjust to his size, though you were so damn wet and high that you just wanted him to fuck you till it hurt. With a drunken look in your face, you pushed back against his hips, mewling with satisfaction, hands flexing against the splintering wall. Behind you, Sanji, too, groaned, reaching around you to swirl his fingers over your swollen clit; the sensation caused your head to lull back, falling onto his shoulder.
You were damn near tempted to beg for him, to plead that he take you rough and quick. But as the words almost left your mouth, Sanji pulled out, stopping when all that was left was his head, before slamming back into you. You yelped with surprise, eyes crossing as he began to pump his hips, sinking into you over and over, so fast and deep that it was nearly painful - exactly how you wanted it, that goddamn mindreader.
The sounds spilling from your lips were so crass and pornographic - you were never so vocal before, but now you simply couldn’t help it. Not with Sanji’s cock buried perfectly between your folds, his hands squeezing your hips, his mouth hot on your skin. You couldn’t be sure if it was the damned plant making you like this or if it was really, simply him.
As Sanji fucked you like he was the one who needed it, you curved back into him, his chest to your back, hair tangling as his heavy panting blew across your face, the angle of your neck allowing you to rest your sweaty forehead against his chin. God, his own grunts of pleasure were all-consuming, making your cunt tighten and your knees shake; you had to grope tightly at the wall for purchase, feeling as if you could lose your grip at any moment.
“This how you want it?” Sanji muttered hoarsely, to which you hummed eagerly, “More?”
“God, ye-es,” You slurred.
He immediately started snapping his hips with even more intensity, a deep cry leaping from you. He leaned into you heavily, bracing his hands on the wall either side of yours, and you felt like you were going to come undone from how good he made you feel, how his hard cock plunged deep into you, how his hips slammed against your ass urgently.
Shit, there were stars in your eyes as you took him, pussy soaking wet and clenching tight, legs shaky with pleasure. You couldn’t help the way your limbs began to dissolve into jelly, struggling to stay upright, arching as you pressed forward, cheek to the wall in front of you, drool teasing as the corner of your mouth.
Feeling you melt on him, Sanji’s arms snaked around you again, cupping your breasts and forcing you back against him, sweat slick between your bodies as the angle change caused you to keen. His hands were delectably rough, one fondling your nipple as the other snaked down to your front, lingering just out of reach from your clit. His fingers splayed across your pelvis, pressing you back into him firmly, holding you steady as his cock thrust up into you.
“Really am made for you,” Sanji grumbled into your hair, teeth nipping at your ear. With the way your head spun, you nearly forgot what you’d said earlier until he recalled it, the gruffness of his words making you pulse around him. He moaned deep in his chest at the feel of you, hips driving with particular intensity, the pressure above your clit making you dizzy.
Sanji’s hand on your breast trailed up your neck to your jaw, urging you to turn your head so he could kiss you sloppily, his tongue shoving hungrily into your mouth, thrusts unrelenting.
When your lips broke apart, he kept you there, forehead to yours as he groaned, “Say it again.”
The request made a spring tighten deep inside, a moan falling from your mouth into his. Again, under different circumstances, you’d be nearly embarrassed by your dirty talk, but now it just made you wetter.
“Your cock was made for me,” You mewled, voice hitching, lips brushing Sanji’s with each word. He whined, hips persistent up against yours, only encouraging you, “Fits me so fucking good--”
Unexpectedly, his cock slammed up hard into you, the both of you yelping as he stiffened and held you tight. You could feel him cumming deep inside, twitching and grunting, filling you to the brim. And you were right there behind him, turned on so much by the fact that he was spilling into you; you lost control with a wild cry, body trembling with your release.
For a long beat, the two of you stayed just like that, tangled together and panting heavily. Your head was still spinning, Sanji’s cum slowly leaking down your thigh; and like the curse that just wouldn’t quit, your body lit up again carnally, ready to keep going and going and going.
“Shit,” Sanji hissed into your hair, finally coming back down to earth.
The both of you quivered as his hands dropped to your hips, easing himself slowly out of you with a low keen; the loss of him caused his seed to ooze out of you, soaking the inside of your legs. He rested his sweaty forehead between your shoulder blades as he caught his breath.
“Sorry, I didn’t think I’d cum that fast.”
You hummed contently, blindly reaching back to knot your fingers through his hair. Even as your body ached for him again, your lips curved up with jest, “You can do this all day?”
To your teasing, Sanji roughly squeezed your hips; you could feel his smile against your clammy skin, “Oh, I promise that. Just gimme five minutes.”
True to his word, Sanji recovered in record time; you spent those few minutes waiting touching yourself, though even that couldn’t make you feel as good as he did. That goddamn pollen was unrelenting - you’d lost track of how many orgasms you had once Sanji returned to you, using his hands and mouth and cock to bring your ruination time and again. And even then, you kept begging for more.
By the time your body had stopped burning, you realized just how spent you really were, muscles aching in all the right ways, limbs quivering even while you did nothing.
Fuck, even once you were back in your right mind, you couldn’t stop thinking about Sanji - that was the best fucking sex of your life, but how the hell could you tell him that? This was your crewmate, your friend, an obnoxious flirt, and, apparently, some kind of sex aficionado, considering all the ways he managed to make you cum. Once he eventually left the safety and comfort of your room, the spell would really be broken, you weren’t sure how you were ever going to look at him normally ever again.
But right now, as you watched him redress slowly - because he was just as worn out as you were - you tried not to let the panic set in. You were certain there was no fucking way you could just be normal with him moving forward. The thought that you and Sanji would be sharing a secret this big made something coil inside you, and for a moment you nearly panicked, thinking that maybe the plant’s effects hadn’t totally worn off and were back with vengeance.
But, no, it had nothing to do with the damned pollen. You realized, frighteningly, that it was completely and utterly you getting worked up thinking about what Sanji was able to do to you; your reaction had nothing to do with that plant at all.
You weren’t certain if Sanji could tell that you were panicking, because you weren’t sure what was going on in his head, either. Yet, when he met your watchful gaze while shrugging into his shirt, he gave you that dazzling, gorgeous grin of his, and you couldn’t help smiling back; though, the butterflies swirling in your stomach filled you with something akin to dread.
Sanji bit the inside of his lip as he studied your face; it seemed like he was trying to make up his mind about something, which only made you more nervous.
Before you could think or react or stop him, Sanji swiftly dipped down to where you lay on the bed, tenderly cupping your cheek and swooping in to steal a kiss that made your heart skip a beat inside your chest.
Shit, maybe this did mean something after all. And that terrified you most of all.
.
.
Addt, Author's Note | Been a little while since I've written smut, so hopefully this wasn't just repetitive or disappointing lol. I don't totally love the ending, but it isn't the worst, so c'est la vie~
summary: Sanji has a habit of showering people with affection. You have a habit of disappearing into the nearest shadow when he does. He doesn't understand why you flinch at compliments. You don't know how to tell him that his words feel too big for someone like you. But the galley is a small place, and avoiding someone with a heart as loud as his is harder than it looks.
a/n: I've decided to mix this two requests since i feel like they've got quite a similar topics. Hope you like it <3
The first time Sanji called you my dear, you dropped a full sack of flour.
It exploded at your feet like a powdery bomb. You stood there, frozen, a human marshmallow, as a fine white dust settled on your hair and shoulders.
"Ah," Sanji said, leaning against the counter with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He didn't look annoyed. He looked delighted. "A beautiful angel, covered in snow. How poetic."
Your face turned the color of a ripe tomato. You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You closed it. Then you grabbed a broom and began sweeping so fast you nearly created a dust tornado.
Sanji just watched, one eyebrow raised, the smallest smirk tugging at his mouth.
You were the new kitchen hand aboard the crew, still learning the rhythm of their larger-than-life personalities. But the moment he paid you that first compliment, one thought hit you like a wave: you were going to be spending almost all your time with him in the galley. Hearing this. Constantly.
Sanji, as a rule, flirted with every woman who breathed. It was as natural to him as breathing itself. But with you? It was becoming a hobby.
Because you were fascinating.
Nami would roll her eyes and call him a pervert. Vivi would offer a warm, diplomatic smile and calmly steer the conversation to something else. But you? You turned into a malfunctioning device every single time.
"Good morning, mon soleil," he'd say as you shuffled into the galley for breakfast.
You'd freeze mid-step. Your eyes would dart left, then right, as if searching for an escape route. Then you'd mumble something that sounded like "mrrnf" and dive behind the nearest object—a chair, a broom, once even Luffy, who was just sitting there eating and looked very confused.
"What's wrong with her?" Luffy asked, mouth full.
"She's shy, Luffy," Nami sighed.
"She looks like she's having a seizure."
"Leave her alone," Sanji said, flicking his lighter shut. But he was smiling. That specific smile. The one that said challenge accepted.
The trouble started when you realized Sanji's flattery wasn't stopping. It was escalating. You hated it.
Not because he was creepy. He wasn't. He was warm and respectful and somehow always remembered how you took your tea. You hated it because every time he looked at you with those earnest eyes and called you "gorgeous," your brain helpfully supplied a list of reasons why that was impossible.
Your hair is flat today. Your body doesn't look like how it's supposed to. Not like others. You're wearing the same shirt you've worn three days in a row. He's just being nice. He says this to everyone.
So instead of feeling flattered, you felt like a fraud. And your body's response was to turn into a terrified raccoon.
"You're doing it again," Nami observed one afternoon. You were both on deck. Sanji was below, preparing lunch. You were curled into a ball on the floor, knees to your chest, replaying the moment he'd called you enchanting and you'd responded by walking directly into a pole.
"Doing what?"
"Being a disaster."
"Shut up."
"I'm not judging," Nami said, not unkindly. "I'm just saying. He's not going to bite you. Probably."
"That's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
You buried your face in your knees. "The problem," you mumbled, "is that I'm me. And he's… him."
Nami patted your head. "Yeah, you're doomed."
Lunch was, as always, a masterpiece.
You sat at the far end of the table, as far from Sanji as physically possible. It didn't matter. He found you anyway.
"Here," he said, sliding a plate in front of you. "For the loveliest eyes on this ship."
The plate held a perfect omelet, decorated with a tiny heart made of ketchup.
You stared at the heart. Then at him. Then back at the heart. A small, strangled noise escaped your throat.
Sanji's visible eye sparkled.
"You're doing that thing again," he said, leaning one elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand. He was watching you like you were his favorite show. "The thing where your face gets all pink and you forget how words work. I adore it."
"I—that's—the heart is—" you sputtered.
"Careful," he purred. "You might combust. And then who would I cook for?"
"Luffy," you blurted.
Sanji laughed. Actually laughed, a low, warm sound that did absolutely nothing to help your cardiovascular situation. "Luffy would eat the ashes. But I'd miss you terribly."
You grabbed your fork with shaking hands and stabbed the omelet with perhaps too much force.
He was still watching you. Smiling. Fondly.
"I'm not—" you started, then stopped. Took a breath. Tried again. "You don't have to say those things."
"What things?"
"The… the nice things. About my eyes and stuff."
Sanji tilted his head. "But they're true."
"They're not."
"They are."
"Sanji."
"Chérie."
You made a sound of pure frustration. Your face was on fire. You could feel the heat radiating off your own cheeks. "I'm not… I'm not pretty like Nami or elegant like Vivi. I'm just… I'm quiet. And I hide behind doors. And I don't know how to respond when you—when you look at me like that."
The galley went quiet.
Luffy had stopped chewing. Usopp was pretending not to listen. Zoro, was chugging his beer.
Sanji's smile softened. It didn't disappear. It just… changed. Became something less theatrical and more real.
"Who said anything about Nami or Vivi?" he asked quietly.
You blinked. "What?"
"I didn't call you pretty like Nami. I called you pretty like you. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're nervous. The way you hum when you peel potatoes. The way you blush." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You think I don't notice that you're the only person on this ship who never asks me for anything? You just sit in my kitchen, quietly existing, and somehow that's the most beautiful thing I see all day."
You forgot to breathe.
"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," he continued, and there was genuine warmth there now, beneath the flirt. "But I'm also not going to stop. Because you should know. Even if you don't believe it yet. Even if you hide behind every door on this ship. I'll just keep finding you."
A long, heavy silence.
Then, from the other end of the table: "Can I eat their omelet if they're done having a moment?" Luffy asked.
"No," Sanji and you said at the same time.
You looked at him. He looked at you.
And despite the burning in your cheeks and the familiar twist of insecurity in your stomach, you didn't look away first.
You took a bite of your heart-omelet.
Sanji's smile could have lit up the entire Grand Line.
"There she is," he murmured, and went back to his plate, whistling.
You spent the rest of the meal hiding your face behind your hair, absolutely scarlet, absolutely not smiling. (You were smiling.)
And later, when he caught you putting away the dishes and called you his favorite little shadow, you only tripped over the rug once.
3 Times Luffy Thought You and Sanji were Acting Weird
Description: Luffy might not be an expert at emotions, but you and Sanji have been acting weird as of late and he’s taken notice.
Pt 2
Luffy likes to think he’s pretty in tune with the emotions of his crew, they’re his friends, his brothers and sisters-in-arms, his treasure hunting companions, and he knows them pretty well. But what he can’t figure out is why you and Sanji are being so incredibly weird.
One: It’s the pet names, the terms of endearment, as Sanji calls them. He has a million, from Mosshead for Zoro to madam for Nami though he only did that once and she hated it, but for you it’s never ending. Sweetheart, Princess, Love, Gorgeous, Darling, Goddess, and Dearest but that one only really comes out when he’s messing with you. And he flirts, nonstop, which seems to annoy other girls, but you don’t seem to mind it? In fact, you encourage it!
“Well, hello there, gorgeous, feel like walking my way?” Sanji smiles, putting out his cigarette as you enter the kitchen.
“Hm, try a better pick-up line and I might.” You say, tossing a smile Sanji’s way as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest.
“Of course, love, allow me to try again.”
You raise a brow in anticipation.
“Y/N, sweetheart, grace this poor overworked cook with your healing presence, won’t you? Take pity on me oh merciful goddess.”
You roll your eyes but walk over to the kitchen island leaning on it, putting you parallel to Sanji, and tap your nails against the countertop with faux impatience. “You’re gonna have to do better than that to get me all the way over there.”
Sanji smiles and leans on the island as well. “How about this, princess? I make your favorites for lunch, and you sit pretty on the counter, keeping me company?”
You’re flustered, Luffy never sees you flustered! And it’s like you two have forgotten he’s even there as you round then hop up on the island, Sanji coming to stand at your knees, his hands planted on either side of you, caging you in, asking you a million questions about your favorite foods he knows Sanji already knows the answers to.
“What about lemon? A little zest to brighten your day?”
You smile, resting your head on your shoulder. “I do like citrus.”
“That is because you have excellent taste.”
“You flatter me. I’m sure I’ll like anything you make.” You tell him, playing with his tie, twirling it around your finger. “You’re an amazing chef.”
“Now who’s flattering who?” Sanji smiles, a slight pink tint crawling up his pale throat.
“I only speak the truth.” You shrug.
“Like the benevolent goddess you are.”
You release his tie, and lean back on your hands. “It’s a good thing you cook as well as you speak.”
“I do a lot things well, if you’re interested.”
You bite your lip. “Oh yeah?”
Sanji smirks, rolling up his sleeves as he starts pulling out bowls and various cooking utensils. “All you gotta do is ask darling.”
“When is lunch going to be ready?” Luffy asks, making his presence known once more.
“Be patient Luffy, good food takes time.” Sanji says, giving you and him a wink.
Two: You’re a star shooter, the fastest draw in the East Blue, and you dodge quick too, but Sanji always acts like the most minor scrapes and bruises are life threatening wounds. Even when you try to brush him off, like you’re doing now, rolling your eyes affectionately at Sanji as he fusses over you.
“Sanji, seriously I’m fine, it barely grazed me.” You tell him, lifting the gaze to see if your arm was still bleeding. You’re standing in the kitchen by the sink, Luffy leaning against the island, the rest of the crew scattered about, Nami and Ussop counting out the treasure you guy got on the table, Zoro cleaning the blood from his swords in the corner.
“You got shot y/n, you have to treat all bullet wounds seriously, they could get infected.” He says, grabbing a bottle from one of the cabinets and a clean rag.
You laugh softly, letting your head fall to the side and flashing Luffy a smile. “I’ve been shot like eleven times and never gotten an infection.”
Luffy laughs too, he never would’ve imagined you’d been shot at so many times, you always try to avoid trouble sticking to the back to get a clear line of sight. “Eleven times?”
You use your uninjured arm to make a so-so gesture with your hand. “Give or take. You don’t gain ownership of the golden guns without making a few people jealous enough to take a shot at you.”
“Just because you’ve never gotten an infection before doesn’t mean you won’t get one now.” Sanji chides, already pouring alcohol onto a clean rag preparing to disinfect the minor scrape on your bicep.
You hiss when he presses the rag to your arm and Sanji mutters soft apologies as he bandages you up, not even noticing the way you look at him, but Luffy does. You look at Sanji the way some sailors look at the ocean, like you can never quite pin it down, inexplicably drawn deeper, entranced and in awe of the sight before you, a smile playing on your lips.
“There we go gorgeous, all fixed up.” Sanji says, finishing tying the new gaze around your arm, his touch lingering, his lips pressing tightly together before they stretch out into a charming smile. “Next time let me get shot. I can still fight with an injured arm, you oh Lady of the Golden Guns, can’t.”
You crinkle your nose in response, the handles of said golden guns gleaming from within the holsters at your hips. “I shoot with both hands, what are you talking about? I can definitely still fight with one good arm.”
“That’s not the point sweet girl.” Sanji sighs, booping your nose with his index finger.
You rear back as if he’s offended you, but you’re still smiling. “What if you slip doing all that fancy footwork? You’ll need your arms to catch yourself.”
He shrugs. “I’ll just try to aim my fall so Zoro can catch me.”
“I’m not catching you.” Zoro says, not even glancing up from his swords.
You try to bite back a laugh, but Sanji catches you. “I’m hurt y/n, truly, you’re really betraying me like this? Such untold cruelty you put me through.”
You take a step forward and straighten the collar of Sanji’s striped button up. “No betrayal here, handsome, no cruelty either.” You let your hands linger and Luffy wonders if there’s something more to the action or if you just like how Sanji’s shirt feels.
Sanji’s face tints red, and your hands are flat on his chest now, sliding up towards his shoulders. Okay he’s gotta feel Sanji’s shirt, it can't be that soft. Luffy reaches out and feels the sleeve of Sanji’s shirt making you both turn to look at him. It feels like a normal shirt? Is he missing something?
“Y/N, why are you touching Sanji’s shirt so much? It just feels like a normal shirt.”
Zoro snorts, and you swiftly kick him, aiming for his ankle, ignoring him when he swears under his breath. “I’m just helping him straighten it out, it got wrinkled in the fight.”
Three: Sanji hates seeing you sad, maybe even more than Luffy does, and he hates to see any of his friends cry, and would do anything to cheer them up.
He’s watching the two of you, he knows you’re upset, it’s late, he’s up at the wheel and you’re sitting beneath one of Nami’s tangerine trees, your knees pulled up to your chest, your chin resting atop them, your shoulders shaking with subdued jerky motions like you’re trying really hard not to cry but can’t keep everything inside. He was going to go over and sit with you, make sure you weren’t alone but then he saw Sanji approaching from below deck.
He places a hand on your shoulder, and you look up at him, wiping at your eyes, clearly embarrassed. Sanji shakes his head and sits next to you, his hand still on your shoulder now moving to wipe away any stray tears.
You say something, but he can’t hear, and he sees Sanji’s face fall before he pulls you into his embrace, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your body wracked with sobs as he holds you tightly, his chin resting on the crown of your head.
You two sit like that for a while, until finally you pull back and wipe your face again. Sanji cups your cheeks looking at you in that weird gooey way he often does, saying something that again he annoyingly can’t hear. He should’ve tried to get closer, but he doesn’t want to make you feel more embarrassed than you already are.
Finally, once your tears have subsided, Sanji pulls you to your feet, and it looks like you’re thanking him. He presses a kiss to your hand with a flourish and you smile, it was a small watery smile but still a smile which Luffy is happy to see. You part ways with Sanji, leaving him beneath the trees, arms still wrapped around yourself but looser, eyes on the sunset.
Sanji watches you go, taking out a cigarette and waiting until you’re below deck to light it, taking a long slow drag before running a hand through his hair and leaning against one of the trees, still staring at the door you disappeared through.
He watches Sanji smoke for a while, the orange glow of his cigarette a single point of light, until the door to the lower decks opens back up, casting a sliver of light across the deck. It’s you, dressed for bed, your hair loose and face scrubbed clean.
Sanji snuffs out his cigarette meeting you halfway, bringing you both close enough for Luffy to catch a few words. “Y/N? I thought you were going to bed?”
“I tried but I just couldn’t fall asleep.” You say, stopping a hairsbreadth away from Sanji.
“Doesn’t seem like you gave it much of a try, love. You only went below deck ten minutes ago.” He chuckles softly, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering for a moment.
“It felt like longer.” You say almost breathlessly, looking up at Sanji with stars in your eyes.
“Yeah, it did.” Sanji hums in response, lifting a hand to caress the curve of your cheek.
You throw your arms around his neck, and Sanji’s hands settle on your waist and lower back, his head dipping down to meet yours and oh, oh, you’re…kissing Sanji? Sanji’s kissing you? He can’t really tell, you both moved so fast.
It’s intense, he watches through his fingers, trying to decide if he should let you both know he’s there or just close his eyes and ears. There’s a lot of wandering hands and noises, Sanji pushes you against the bulwark, you grab at his shirt, and yeah okay he’s going to say something.
Luffy coughs loudly, waving his arms. “Um guys I’m up here.”
You and Sanji jerk apart, Sanji’s face burning red while you bury yours in your hands. “Luffy! Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Your voice three octaves too high to be normal.
“Well, I didn’t know you guys were going to start kissing!”
Sanji clears his throat and straightens his clothing. “Why don’t we all calm down and I’ll take y/n to bed, Luffy you just keep your watch, I’ll go get—”
“I don’t want to know about you two having sex!” Luffy says, slapping his hands over his ears.
“That’s not what I meant, I’ll just escort her back to her room.” Sanji says, waving his hands frantically as if that would make everything go away.
You’re dying laughing nearly bent in half, leaning on the bulwark for support. “Sanji, Sanji it’s okay. Luffy nothing is going to happen between us tonight, I promise you, so you can uncover your ears.”
Luffy removes his hands and looks at you both warily. “Okay but I want extra bacon at breakfast tomorrow.”
“Deal.” Sanji says, offering his arm to you. “Shall we go then sweetheart?”
You take his arm, smiling up at him and Luffy’s glad to see it, maybe you two will stop being so weird now. “We shall.”
Summary: Smoker's secret kink is finally out in the open. When you tell him you’ll go along with it, all bets are off. ~1.8k words. CW: Afab reader w/ gendered pet names, e.g. “good girl,” daddy kink, spanking, P in V.
WARNING: MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.
*** If you don’t like this kink, seriously, do not read this!!! You will be disturbed… and neither of us want that. So begone, please. For those of you who are down for the nastiness, keep reading because you’re in for a treat. Mildly edited. Also, shoutout to whoever requested this!
White-hot pain exploded on impact—a huge, rough hand spanked your ass so hard that your body rocked forward and you let out a yelp. It left a bright red handprint, searing pain coursing through your body. For a few moments, the pain was all that you were aware of. It enveloped your senses, forced you to be ultra-present, and reminded you that you were not in control. You were bent over Smoker’s thighs with your bare ass exposed and your skirt riding up around your waist.
You couldn’t see it, but you knew his hand was poised to land another. Sure enough, he landed a whopping smack on your supple skin just seconds later. Another yelp of pain.
The adrenaline from his spanks would normally make you feel like you were in fight or flight mode, but that wasn’t the case. You were so aroused that you were making a mess of yourself, oozing slick onto your upper thighs so they glistened. Underneath of you, you could feel something hard—it was his cock, of course.
A third resounding slap echoed in the room as Smoker landed another blow. “Say it.”
You were too lost in the pain and arousal to understand what he meant by that. It must have been something from a few minutes ago, but you were clueless and too caught up in the all-encompassing feeling of pain.
He grabbed a handful of the skirt that was pooling around your waist and held it taught. Fantastic, you thought. Another thing that’s going to hurt. Smoker yanked the fabric up, eliciting an inadvertent, guttural noise from you. It was almost like you got the wind knocked out of you.
He practically growled, obviously impatient. “Say what you are.” His hand raised, getting ready to wallop you again if you didn’t produce an answer within seconds. You remembered what he wanted.
“A bad girl,” you whined and braced yourself for the impact of the fourth spank. It came, excruciating. Those five-star handprints were going to leave a bruise. “I’m a bad girl.”
Smoker yanked on the fabric around your waist once more, evidently unsatisfied with your response. His voice glowered and rasped from above. A cigar, or two, or three (you couldn’t remember) puffed away, filling the room with a hazy veil of smoke.
“And what happens to bad girls?”
“Y-you fix them,” you choked the words out, wincing from the last harsh blow to your ass. No matter how many times Smoker spanked you, you’d still get off on it. Something about being handled so crassly and dominantly made you feel like you were on fire. You’d do anything he said at this point. He’d been neglecting your sensitive areas the whole time, only paying attention to your ass, and you were starting to get desperate.
Sure, the roleplay was a blast, but you wanted his cock in you as soon as possible. The teasing was agonizing.
One last smack and Smoker finally did what you were hoping for, the first step towards him fucking you senseless. His fingers came to rest on your inflamed and hot core.
“So wet for me.” He rasped, low and gravelly. His voice was slightly obstructed by the cigars, and it made his voice sound huskier. “Such a bad girl today, don’t you want to apologize? Say sorry and I’ll make it all better.”
What had you done today that was so bad? Nothing in particular. But that didn’t matter in the slightest.
“S-sorry daddy,” you whined, playing into the fantasy as much as you could. You knew he would eat it up.
Smoker was initially weary about telling you he liked this sort of thing. You hadn’t been seeing each other for too long and he wasn’t sure how to navigate the situation—if you didn’t like the kink, would you be totally turned off by him? He was worried that it would change something between you two, so he kept it a secret for a while. He really didn't want to make you uncomfortable. When the opportunity presented itself, he was awkward and gruff when he talked to you about it, but you were surprised.
When you told him you were down for it, down for calling him 'daddy' as much as he wanted, his jaw dropped. He didn't anticipate you to be this eager. Now, it was no holds barred.
You leaned into it as much as you could, knowing that the more you played it up the better the sex would be. Something about this dynamic revved Smoker up like nothing else, so of course you were going to play along. You liked to see him get as riled up as possible.
“Sorry I was such a bad girl, I didn’t mean to, daddy.” Every time you called him that, it made his cock jump. He could only hear that word so much before he would devour every last ounce of pleasure in your body and ravage the ever-living fuck out of you. And obviously, that was the goal here.
Smoker rubbed your lips up and down with his rough fingers and finally, finally inserted one. “Mmmm, there we go. Need me to fix you up.” He purred, watching your back arch from the contact that you’d been anticipating with bated breath.
“Feels good,” you panted.
“I know it does. Do you just want my fingers, or do you want more? Only good girls get more than that.” He condescended and your walls clenched around his fingers. Smoker knew how much you liked being talked down to like that, how sick and twisted you were with lust only for him.
“I-I want more, please. I’ll be so good for you. Make me feel good, please.”
Smoker's voice was strained when he responded. He was about to lose control. “You promise? You’ll be a good girl for me? Want me to slide my cock into you and fuck you like a good girl? You want to be nasty for daddy?” His cadence and tone told you all you needed to know—he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, and he was at a breaking point.
“Please,” you pleaded as he pulled the fistful of your skirt tighter and shoved his finger deeper. “Wanna be so good for you. Please.”
Smoker groaned and maneuvered you, flipping you onto the bed. He brought himself between your legs and got ready to fuck you in missionary. Pulling his cock out of his pants and stroking it lazily for a few seconds, he stared at your bare and wet cunt on display.
“You want to be fucked by daddy’s cock? Tell me how badly you want it, baby. Good girls beg for it.”
You begged and pleaded while you watched the milky white pearls of precum seep out of his slit and begin their descent downwards to his pumping fingers.
"I-I want you cock, please. Want you to make me feel good with it. Please, daddy."
While you entreated and pouted, you batted your eyelashes for good measure. Each time you called him daddy, his heart beat faster.
Finally, Smoker began to push his girthy cock into your folds, inch by inch. You’d never get used to how thick he was. It felt great to be stretched out like this, to be so full.
Now you could see him clearly—one cigar was perched in his mouth and his white hair was ruffled. Even the smell of that cigar couldn't bother you when Smoker's cock was buried inside. That's all that mattered.
He bottomed out with a groan. “Fuuuuhhhcccckkk. Feel how deep I am? You’re taking it all for me, pretty girl.”
At his words, he could feel your walls constrict and pulse around his cock. Smoker started to grind and roll his hips into yours, producing pleasure at rapid speed. He brought his face closer to yours and the smokey haze distorted your vision.
“You like how it feels when daddy shoves his cock in you? You like being my cocksleeve?”
You moaned out a barely understandable “yes, daddy” and he kept going. The more worked up he got, the filthier things he said.
“Want daddy to rub on your clit? Want daddy to rub it till you cream?”
When you managed to nod and lock eyes with him, he brought his thumb to your sensitive spot and started to draw circles around it, making your hips buck and jerk.
“D-daddy, fuck, feels so good, fuck.”
He was grunting and groaning between each frenzied thrust. He could feel it—you were getting closer to orgasm. He turned it up a notch, hoping that you’d cum on his cock like you always did.
“You always make my cock feel good, sweetheart.”
Smoker pressed his thumb on your clit and started to thrust slowly now, leaning his weight down and over you. You were almost out of breath, so fucked-out that you couldn’t think straight.
When lust piloted Smoker's mind, his eyes looked scary and crazed. He grinded and dragged his cock in your cunt feverishly. Your muscles tensed with each pass of his tip and shaft over your hot and gooey spot, bringing you closer to climax.
Your eyes were starting to roll back in your head.
“That’s it. Cum on my cock, baby. Wanna feel you cum for me.”
He thrusted hard enough to elicit another whine. “D-d-fuckkk—” you gasped, trying to force the words out but it felt like your mouth was full of cotton. You couldn’t do anything else except lay there and get fucked. “D-d-daddy, f-fuck.”
“Good girls cum when they’re told to. Be a good girl and cum for me.”
Smoker’s words were accompanied by a particularly aggressive push of his thumb on your clit and it sent your over the edge.
During your orgasm, the whole time you spasmed and writhed under him, you called him “daddy.” This was what he had been waiting for—seeing you fall apart on his cock and call him that dirty and depraved word over and over again—daddy.
Smoker fucked you through your orgasm and then made you suck him off until he came down your throat. He ran his mouth while you gave him head, but he was so lost in pleasure that he could barely speak. When his cum disappeared down your throat and your hands were dripping with your own spit, he was satisfied.
Afterwards he kissed you sweetly and cleaned you up, blushing. You had never seen him blush before you started indulging in this kink of his. It was cute and becoming.
Smoker did anything you wanted after you let him fuck you like that. The fact that you were willing to play into this intense fantasy tickled him—no point in being ashamed of it anymore when you were just as enthusiastic as him, and fuck, the sex was so good it was crazy.
Afterwards, you often thought that you should be a ‘bad girl’ more often (whatever that meant).
sheesh! 🥵🥵🥴 that’s all for this one. if u made it this far and are into this shit, let me shake ur hand because i love it too.
here’s my masterlist and my october posting schedule.
picking up the call or keep fucking you? it's such a dumb question when both can be done.
A/N: based on this request, it was a fun one, press f for mihawk tho. i'm sorry i'm late on my usual schedule, my neck hurts like hell. enjoy the meal.☆
CW: f!reader, established relationship, specific CW are listed under each character
WC: 2k
Sabo got you in a chokehold, one gloved hand squeezing your throat, the other gripping your waist almost painfully, making you gasp and cry out with each thrust. Your nails try to find a grip on his shoulders as he pounds into you hard enough to make the desk shake, blonde hair sticking to his forehead, eyes blazing with passion. “That’s it sweetheart, taking me like a good girl,” He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you all day… You have no idea how many times I jerked off imagining being inside you.”
Face flushed, mind invaded with dirty pictures of Sabo jerking off while working at the same desk you’re sitting on, your wrap your legs around his waist, letting out strangled moans. Even more when he yanks up your top and bra, exposing your breasts bouncing with each snap of his hips. Sabo didn’t even bother locking the door - anyone could just walk in and see him pounding into you with all his might. He doesn’t care, solely focused on tightening his grip around your throat, kneading your breast with his free hand, gloved fingers circling your nipple. “You-” The ring of the snail phone fills the room, interrupting the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin. “Just ignore it,” you mutter, knowing damn well he’s a professional when it comes to not picking up a call. But Sabo gives you a lovely smile that doesn’t match how rough he’s taking you. “Shh,” he warns, pulling out slightly and hitting your sweet spot hard enough to make your eyes roll back. He lets go of your breast, answering the call, keeping you impaled on his cock. “Koala,” he says calmly, his hips continuing his brutal pace without missing a beat. “What is it?”
You bite your lips, trying to muffle your moans, Sabo’s eyes flickering between your burning cheeks and the sight of his cock sliding in and out, glistening with your wetness. Mind hazy, you barely listen to the conversation, way too focused on trying to muffle your little whines. Koala, totally oblivious to the fact her boss is buried balls deep inside his girlfriend, is talking about mission details and reports and Sabo listens, his focus perfectly split between you and his duties. “Noted,” he replies softly with his usual warm tone. Your nails dig deeper into Sabo’s skin, your legs trembling when his hand lets go of your neck to find your clit, circling it lazily with his thumb. “Got it, understood,” he speaks softly, rubbing your clit lightly, feeling how your cunt spasms around him, the overwhelming pleasure building inside you slowly reaching the point of no return. He pulls out almost the way out before slamming right back inside you, making you cry out. “Shh.”
Desperate, biting your swollen lips, choking on your own moans, you let out other broken sounds. “Are you okay, Sabo?” He looks down at you and slides two gloved fingers inside your mouth, pushing them down your throat to silence you.
“Everything is fine, Koala,” Sabo replies with a lovely smile - as if you weren’t gagging and drooling on his glove, legs shaking uncontrollably. He continues to roll his hips, knowing you’re right on the edge, pussy clenching around him. “Keep me updated.”
“G-gonna..” you try to speak weakly and Sabo ends the call mid-sentence, not even giving Koala the chance to achieve her report. “Damn, you’re noisy, sweetheart. But I couldn’t let you cum in silence when you’re always making the prettiest sounds for me.” He murmurs, taking off his fingers to squeeze your throat again as he watches your face contort in pleasure. The second his thumb finds your swollen clit once more, orgasm hits you so hard your vision goes white for a second.
“You’re clenching around me like a vice,” Sabo whispers, your juice dripping down his length and on the desk, your cunt milking his cock so nice he inhales sharply. “Making a mess on my desk… that call really turned you on.”
ft.Sir Crocodile
CW: office sex,rough sex, domination, slight spanking, press f for mihawk
Crocodile’s rings dig into your hips, his strong grip holding you in place, keeping you full and stuffed while you squirm, nails clawing the wood of his desk. His golden hook tightens around your neck, choking you slightly each time his hips snap forward, his length disappearing inside your tight cunt. “Stay in place,” He commands firmly. “But you’re supposed to have a meeting with Mihawk, h-” You don’t even have the chance to achieve your sentence, Crocodile bends you harder over his desk, almost folding you in half, back arched in a mean angle. “And? I’m busy fucking my wife right now.” He says through gritted teeth, pulling out before slamming back in, his fat tip hitting your cervix. “And I don’t like hearing my wife saying someone else's name.”
His hand leaves your hip to spank your ass roughly, his rings making you whine in pain. Nonchalant, Crocodile takes a drag from his cigar, using the beautiful curve of the small of your back as an ashtray, watching how you jolt. Immediately, his fingers steady you again, his thick length sliding in and out you with wet, sloppy sounds, his heavy balls slapping against your flesh. “Always making the filthiest noises for me.”
Brutally, he releases your neck and your body goes limp, your face almost smashing against the desk, your breasts squishing against it. Papers scatter everywhere, the poor desk shaking and begging for mercy more than you.
Your high heels almost slip on the floor as you struggle to stay upright and Crocodile gives your ass another rough spank. “Behave,” he grunts as if he weren’t the one that pulled your shirt up enough to expose your breasts and yanked up your skirt, panties sloppily tossed to the side. “I’m going to break my ankles,” you whine but Crocodile doesn’t slow down. “The only thing that's going to break is you once I'll be done.” Your high heels continue to wobble precariously, and you hold onto the edge of the desk as you would hold to your dear life.
The snail phone that miraculously didn’t fall from the desk suddenly buzzes loudly and Crocodile doesn’t even pause his thrusts. “Pick it up,” he commands, his thick cock stretching you wide open. “Tell Mihawk I’ll be late.” He adds, taking another drag of his cigar before blowing the smoke out over your back.
“I can’t…” You wail between moans. “Answer. That is what a secretary is supposed to do.” His tone leaves no room for negotiation. Weakly, when you pick up the call, Mihawk immediately asks where Crocodile is, without bothering hiding the annoyance in his tone. “S-Sir Crocodile is…” You trail off, muffling a moan when his tip hits your sweet spot. “... busy.” You gasp, panting.
“Busy with what exactly?” Mihawk asks, suspicious. Unfazed, Crocodile slams inside you, his cock twitching. His golden hook cups your throat once more. “Tell him…” He murmurs softly against your ear, pulling out almost completely before slamming right back inside you to emphasize his point. “I’m busy taking care of important matters,”
“Busy… withimportantmatters,” you answer weakly, voice high-pitched.
Mihawk pauses, probably noticing how breathless you sound. “Really?” You open your mouth in a silent scream. Crocodile’s thick length never stops moving, fucking you so deep and making your eyes roll back. You can barely think straight, let alone sound normal, his hips snapping against your ass, sloshing noises of your wet cunt and skin slapping against skin filling the office.
Brain totally mush, unable to find a good excuse, you turn your head, looking at Crocodile, seeking for his help. “Answer,” He urges you. “Tell him I’m handling delicate negotiations.”
Biting your lips, trying to brace yourself, you open your mouth but let out a strand of incoherent sounds, Crocodile bullying your sweet spot on purpose, your dripping wet pussy making the filthiest, lewd noises.
“Crocodile. Wrap your ‘negotiation’ soon. And wash your hand.” Mihawk speaks coldly, voice thick with disgust and irritation before ending the call brutally.
When Smoker is back home, the first thing in his mind is not to take off his uniform but to feel how tight and wet you feel around him. Especially with your legs smashed against your chest, his thick length buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s aiming for your soul, savoring each deep thrust into you, the poor couch creaking and sinking under his weight. His uniform coat opened on his strong chest rustles, hanging loosely on his broad shoulders, his cigars forgotten in the astray filling the room with tobacco scent.
“Sorry for coming home so late… Work was a nightmare” Smoker murmurs, brushing your thighs. “But this fucking cunt is pure heaven…” His hips snap, setting a pace rough enough to let go of all his stress and frustration. How debauched he looks, with his pants just pulled down enough to free his hard length, his hair totally disheveled from how hard you held his head when he was eating you out like if your pussy was his first meal in months.
Pupils dilated with lust, he hits that spot inside you, making your eyes roll back and cry out his name loudly, your dripping wet cunt soaking his cock. “Always ready for me…” He whispers, watching how you’re taking him so well, every single inch. “You have no idea how much I needed this… fucking you senseless.”
“Harder,” You beg between two desperate moans. “That’s what I like to hear…” His hands grip your legs tightly, using them to pound into you with all his strength, his hips slapping against your thighs. “Fuck, look at you…” He murmurs, leaning to capture your mouth in a rough kiss, swallowing your sweet cries, his pace never slowing down.
“Open your mouth,” he commands and you obey, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, when the little snail phone in his coat pocket starts to ring. By habit, Smoker grabs it, ready to answer. “Don’t pick up the call, just keep fucking me,” you beg, but Smoker is just a workaholic, so he answers without thinking. “What?” He snaps, voice professional but thick with his annoyance. “Tashigi, what’s wrong?” His voice softens, but he keeps thrusting hard inside you, giving you deep thrusts leaving you gasping for air.
Face flushed, you try to ignore the fact he’s casually talking to his subordinate and your friend right now, but moans keep escaping you. Smoker glances at you, slowly pulling out to flip you on your stomach, lifting up your hips. With one strong hand, he pins your head against the couch cushion to muffle your moans and slam right back inside you.
Balls slapping against your wet cunt, he moves to a steady rhythm, but still, he keeps talking calmly, in control. “Focus, you don’t need me, you can handle it.” Drooling into the cushion, your nails try to find a grip, Smoker sliding deeper into you, making you whimper and whine. Eyes glued to your ass jiggling, Smoker takes a deep breath, trying his best to focus but you’re taking him so well it’s hard to not be hypnotized. “Just trust your own judgment and justice, don’t follow orders blindly,” he says, voice raspy, his cock throbbing inside you as he adjusts your position, keeping you pinned and helpless.
With each thrust, his tip hits that spot inside you, making your whole body shake under the strength of your orgasm. “Yeah, you got this. Goodnight.” Smoker ends up the call quickly, releasing your head. “How did it feel to muffle your screams while I was buried all the way inside you?” He asks, spanking your ass cheeks hard enough to leave a red mark. “You’re so debauched, love.”
Hands gripping your hips, Smoker keeps you helpless, all spread out for him, fucking you hard enough to make you cry out his name properly, clear and loud this time.
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ please, reblog, like, comment if you like my work.
summary : seconds ago? he was just normally fucking you with his cock. but now? he created that thick smoke tendril, adding the thing with his cock, both of it fucking you now . . .
cw : pwp. rough/unprotected sex. dirty talk / petnames ("brat", "princess", "little star", "baby"). brat taming. light bondage. tentacle-like play (smoke tendrils). overstimulation / fem!masturbation. multiple orgasms. creampie. smoking kink / use of moku moku no mi. mild pain/pleasure mix. post-sex cuddling. banter. light ooc !smoker. no use of y/n.
wc : 2k
"Christ, you’re—ngh—being such a dick about the pace tonight," you muttered, twisting the damp sheets between your fingers as Smoker's cigar smoke curled around the ceiling lamp like lazy storm clouds. The cheap bunk groaned beneath you; one of those thin Navy-issue things that barely fit a grown man, let alone a grown man currently driving into you like he wanted to splinter the frame.
His teeth flashed around the cigars, that familiar smirk you wanted to slap off him. "Funny thing to say now, don't ya think?" A particularly rough thrust punctuated the word, making your nails dig crescent moons into his shoulders. "Since you were the one who begged for this, little star."
You hissed through your teeth, equal parts irritation and pleasure, as the mattress springs protested. The room smelled sex and cedar, like the inside of his coat when he'd pinned you against the wall earlier, all heat and impatience. The sea rocked the ship in a slow, taunting rhythm, waves slapping the hull in time with his hips.
"Begged?" You rolled your eyes, though the effect was ruined when he angled deeper and your voice cracked. "I suggested—ah—you try being less of a brick wall for once—"
He chuckled, and you hated how it reverberated through you, right down to where his cock was slamming against your poor muscular tube. Hated how his hands knew exactly where to grip; one under your thigh, hiking your leg higher, the other splayed across your hipbone.
The cigars glowed when he inhaled, casting his face in flickering amber. You watched, mesmerized, as twin streams of smoke escaped his nostrils, framing his sharp features. His eyes never left yours.
"Still talking shit I see," he observed, dragging his thumb over your bitten-red lip with a certain reverence. It was kind of sweet how he could still be gentle at the same time that he was fucking you like an animal.
You nipped at his calloused finger, defiant even now. After all, you were the brat here, right? Got to maintain your role intact. "Someone’s gotta fill the silence while you—” A sharp snap of his hips stole your breath, and you were almost certain that if he kept going in and in, his cock would come out of your mouth and hit you in the face to shut you up. "—grunt like a caveman."
"Uh-huh." His free hand slid down your stomach, slow as a prowling beast, and your abdominal muscles twitched under his touch. "Sounds like you’re the one doing the grunting, princess. All those little noises… they don't come out of nowhere, eh?"
You kicked his calf weakly with your free foot; a half-hearted protest. Unfortunately, that was all you had at the moment due to your lack of... mobility here. He caught your ankle easily, pinning it to the mattress, spreading you wider like an accordion. The shift in angle punched a embarrassing punched-out noise from your throat.
Smoker’s grin turned wolfish. "There it is… like music to the ears."
"Asshole," you breathed.
He leaned down until his lips brushed your ear, stubble scratching your cheek. "Keep calling me names," he murmured, sweet as sin, "see what it gets you."
The cigar tumbled from his teeth onto the floor, forgotten. His mouth found yours instead; hot, demanding, tasting of tobacco and peppermint mouthwash. You arched into him, all arguments drowned out by the slick sound of skin on skin, by the creak of the bunk, by his mouth devouring yours in lazy frictions.
And when his smoke finally moved, twisting down your body with purpose, you stopped talking altogether. The first tendril curled around your wrist; solid enough to pin, but still warm as living breath. Another slid between your thighs, lazy as a cat stretching in sunlight, and you bucked against it instinctively.
"W...what? That's cheating, baby!" you gasped against his mouth, but the words dissolved into a moan when those smoke-fingers found your clit, circling the bud with maddening precision. Your hips stuttered, torn between arching into the touch and grinding down on his cock.
Smoker chuckled (the bastard actually chuckled in your face) and bit your lower lip, following with his tongue sliding over it to ease the pain. "Thought you liked when I played dirty in bed, princess."
Your breath hitched as the smoke curled tighter around your wrist, anchoring you to the rusted metal frame of the bunk. Another tendril (thicker this time) wound its way down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake before slipping between your thighs. It wasn’t just heat; it was him, the same way his calloused hands knew exactly where to press to make you squirm.
"Of course I like it but…ngh…how about warning a girl beforehand, uh?" you gasped again, but the protest turned into a broken moan as the tendril flicked over your clit, teasing in quick, maddening circles. Your hips jerked forward, and the conflicting sensations left you dizzy, thighs trembling with the effort of holding still.
Smoker didn’t let up. Weird it would be if he actually did. His mouth trailed down your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse point as he murmured against your skin. "Shoulda known you’d bitch even when I’m givin’ you exactly what you asked for. Little brat. Nothing's really enough to you, eh?"
You would’ve snapped back (you hadn’t asked for his damn devil fruit to join the party) but then the tendril pulsed, thickening just enough to press harder against your clit, and your retort dissolved into a strangled cry. Your nails scrabbled against the smoke binding your wrist, but it held firm, unyielding as the man himself.
"Fuck—fuuuck !" you choked out, back arching off the mattress. The coil in your gut tightened dangerously, pleasure building too fast, too much. You tried to keep your thighs open, trying to fit his two cocks (one, technically, metaphorical) inside you. "I can’t—ah—I can’t, Smokey—"
"Sure you can, baby. You’re already takin’ it. Look at you... so greedy…. this brave little cunt’s swallowing both my “cocks” so well now," he rumbled, dragging his lips back up to yours, giving you something to distract yourself with. The remaining cigar tumbled from his mouth, forgotten, as he kissed you hard enough to bruise. His tongue swept against yours, tasting your ragged breaths, and you whimpered into his mouth when he rolled his hips again. The tendril moved with him, mimicking the way his fingers would curl inside you.
Even if you tried to hold back for an extra minute or so, this was indeed… too fucking much for you.
The orgasm hit like a storm surge: sudden, violent, tearing through you with enough force to make your vision whiten at the edges. Your entire body locked up, muscles taut as rigging in a gale, and for one dizzying second, you forgot how to breathe. The only thing anchoring you was Smoker’s weight, the solid press of his chest against yours as you shuddered violently beneath him.
He didn’t stop while you were melting beneath him. Because he was still there... trying to reach his own peak too.
Even as you gasped, oversensitive and shaking, he kept moving, his thrusts slow but relentless. The smoke-tendril gentled stroking your clit in lazy, soothing circles, but the pressure never eased. His breath was ragged against your ear, his own control fraying at the edges. "C’mon," he groaned, voice rough as a ship's rope, intoxicated with neediness. "One more. For me, little star."
You groaned in a weak form of protest, but your hips lifted anyway, chasing the friction he needed even as your body trembled with exhaustion. The second peak came slower, building in waves until it crashed over you with less force but twice the sweetness, leaving you boneless and gasping.
Smoker followed soon after, his rhythm stuttering before he buried himself deep with a low groan, his semen spurting in hot jets inside you, filling you up like an empty cup. His big body melts, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath hot and uneven against your skin as he rode out the aftershocks. For a long moment, the only sounds were the creak of the ship, the distant call of gulls, and the ragged harmony of your breathing.
Then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you nudged his shoulder with your chin. "Told you I could take whatever you dished out, old man."
He lifted his head just enough to glare at you, but the effect was ruined by the way his mouth twitched at the corners. "Brat," he muttered, rolling off you with a grunt. The smoke-tendrils dissipated, leaving your wrists free, though the ghost of their warmth lingered on your skin.
You stretched, wincing at the ache in your muscles, then flopped onto your side to face him. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and you reached out to smooth a wayward lock behind his ear; just so you could watch him scowl at the gesture. ah, it never gets old.
"Next time," you said, grinning when he narrowed his eyes at you, pretending to look angry, "try keeping up with me. It's a bit annoying being the only one who can actually handle the pressure."
Smoker exhaled sharply through his nose before reaching over to pluck the fallen cigar from the floor. He rolled onto his back, letting the bunk take his full weight with a protesting creak, and stuck the cigar between his teeth without bothering to relight it. "Next time," he muttered around it, "I'll let you do all the work. See how long that smart mouth lasts, since you say you're much better than me."
You snorted, stretching your legs out just to nudge your toes against his thigh. "Promises, promises, babe. You're all bark and no bite." Through the porthole, the first hints of dawn painted the sky in watery blues and pinks, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets.
Woah… who would have guessed you two would spend the whole night fucking!?
His hand found yours without looking, calloused fingers lacing through yours in a gesture so casual it made your chest ache. You stared at your joined hands—his knuckles scarred from a hundred brawls, yours still trembling slightly from exertion—and something warm unfurled beneath your ribs. It was stupid, really, how such a small thing could undo you more thoroughly than any of his smoke-tendrils or even his cock ever had.
"You're thinking too loud again, little star" Smoker grumbled, thumb tracing idle circles over your pulse point. He always knew when you were getting too lost in your own mind.
"Just wondering if the Marines teach all their vice admirals to fuck like they're trying to win a war or it's just you," you shot back, but there was no bite to it. Your voice came out softer than intended, frayed at the edges in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with this man beside you.
He turned his head to look at you then, cigar bobbing as he spoke. And the smirk he gave you was pure mischief wrapped in masculine charm. "Only the ones who get stuck babysitting insubordinate little—"
The rest of the insult dissolved into a grunt as you rolled on top of him, straddling his hips with deliberate slowness. His hands came to rest on your waist automatically, as you plucked the cigar from his mouth and took a long drag. The smoke curled around your tongue, before you blew it directly into his face.
His eyes narrowed. "haha real mature, baby."
You grinned, leaning down until your noses brushed. His eyes, from that distance, were like puddles of hot chocolate. "Learned from the best, old man."
For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The ship groaned around you, the distant shouts of the morning watch mingling with the cry of seabirds. Then Smoker's hands slid up your back, pulling you down until your chests pressed together. His mouth found yours in a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness, all rough edges and raw feelings, and you melted into it like you hadn't spent the last hour trying to out-stubborn him.
When he finally pulled back, his breath warm against your lips, he muttered, "Go to sleep, brat. Don't want you all grumpy and bitching in the morning."
You sighed dramatically but curled against his side anyway, tucking your head under his chin. His arm settled around your shoulders, heavy and solid, and you closed your eyes to the sound of his heartbeat.
One Piece Men + reacting to messingup!reader (short fics)
This is a request from a reader, and I absolutely adored this—the reason it took so long was because I didn’t want to stop, so thank you for the suggestion and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did writing it! ✨🤍~(⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)
Tags: Angst, hurt but with a happy ending. Reader messes up big time at work/mission, and how their s/o reacts to that. SFW (Reader is she/her)
tw: Themes of self-sabotage, self-hatred, abandonment-ish(?), Doffy’s fic has violence. Zoro’s fic has drunk kissing. Read safely everyone!
wc: 3k for each separate fic
Characters/status: Rob Lucci, Sir Crocodile, Trafalgar Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Roronoa Zoro (established relationship)
Note: Was writing this whilst listening to the most angsty aaa music ever; I hope I delivered the emotions correctly. Enjoy~ ૮꒰ ˶> ༝ < ྀི˶꒱ა ♡
Rob Lucci
Rob Lucci doesn’t tolerate weakness and he certainly doesn’t stand for failure.
It’s not that he’s impractical about that philosophy. A civilian—weak and helpless? That’s just cattle acting like cattle. But a trained assassin who succumbs into weakness? A predator have no right to quiver like helpless sheep.
You often ensured perfection during your missions but this time however, you couldn’t help it. One slip up, one blind spot and your waist was gushing blood. You had clung onto Rob’s shoulder, your heart going faint and the alarms ringing.
Once you’re back on the ship—Rob doesn't even look your way.
When you approach him alone by the corridor, he had given you a look. That nasty cruel one, devoid of all affection from the nights and days before. It made you flinch.
And he only creased a corner of his nose at that.
You watch his figure disappear down the hall. The clicks of his heel striding further and further away, sinking your stomach deeper and deeper.
You wanted to call out to him, wanted to make things right but even now, between the stretched silence and feelings left unsaid, you hesitate at his lack of patience for you. Gut twisting all the way up your throat, forcing your tongue still.
When you arrive home, the lights are out. His shoes neatly placed, but the rooms are quiet and the walls are cold.
You won’t find Rob by the kitchen, who usually stirs a meal for you both. You won’t find a hot cup of tea prepared for you, and the pots of flowers that he gifted remain unwatered. The soil dry. The halls empty.
You call for his name but there is no one who wants to greet you back. That sickening feeling in your gut crawls back as you saunter your way to the bedroom. An aching, wretched feeling—one slowly, surely, to eat you whole. But when you see him in bed, your brows ease up.
His back turned, toned body nestled at the very edge.
“Rob baby?” You say but he must already be asleep.
Chin sinks and your fingers play with the hem of your sleeves. Hands cold.
When you slide under the blankets with him—you do not feel him stir.
Rob who is such a light sleeper should have awoken from your rustling, should have turned and pulled you behind by the waist, lips tilting near your neck.
But there is nothing. All you see is his back—strong, sculpted, scarred. You inch closer.
Hand reaching for his spine, feeling his shoulder blades tense under your palm. Hard, sharp—annoyed. You pull a breath back, immediately withdrawing your hand.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t...” you swallow, feeling your voice crack. Rob doesn’t tolerate weakness, and he certainly doesn’t tolerate excuses. You blink, curling into yourself. “I’ll do better.”
A promise made—he does not say it but the aching silence remains evident. He does not expect you to hold yourself to it.
Despite laying next to you, only having to reach a hand out to feel him, touch him—he feels more distant than ever. If you were to reach out, you’d only touch something cold. A void of indifference, a rift of unwanted affection, one that cuts your chest like a jagged blade. Cleaving you empty, tearing you hollow.
When you press your eyes shut, you feel tears squeezing down your cheeks. And this time, Rob won’t be there to wipe them.
You wake up, and you wake up alone.
His side empty, and the curtains remained shut. When you enter the kitchen, there will be no breakfast made, no note, no call. Just silence. But you will see the daily papers displayed on the table. Left in such a way as if to make you see it.
The whole front page is of your embarrassing blunder; the World Government and Cipher Pol have become the laughing stock, dragging their credibility and mocking your reputation and you feel your cheeks bristle with humiliation.
You’ll note the creases of someone’s thumb crumbled into the paper—as if having read the page in pure, utter disgust.
How can you bear to face the others at work?
How can you even think to keep sleeping in the same bed as him?
You try to remain focused, logical, indifferent just like Rob, but truly? You feel unworthy, stupid—irrational. Everything that he isn’t.
You show up for your duties and even if no one really says anything, it’s left hanging in the air. Like an unfinished sentence not meant to be said out loud.
You look to Rob but he stands next to anyone but you, he addresses to anyone but you, he looks to anyone but you—It stings.
Back at home—you try and talk to him but there is nothing. You cling onto his sleeves, tears spilling down your cheeks. You’re begging with him, pleading with him, feel yourself crumbling for just an ounce of affection but there is just that jarring, cruel, coldness that eats you whole.
He won’t hold you, won’t console you.
You start to crack. Pressing your face into your hands.
You want nothing more but to stand next to him—hear his silent praises, and feel his lips pressed onto your temples as reward for a good job’s done. You want to see him smile at you, that quiet, small one, rarer and more precious than any gold. You want his affection more than you’ve ever wanted it before but you fear the last time will remain the last—and Rob will soon come to discard you. You who is weak, you who embody everything that he hates.
You don’t want that.
You want to be worthy of Rob.
Not weak, slow—and stupid.
You decide to take the matters in your own hands.
For awhile, you don’t come home until late at night and Rob doesn't seek you out. He does not question your long disappearances or your withdrawn nature but after work, he’ll see you vanish behind the training halls. And when days start to pass into weeks—he notes the way your hands are bandaged with blisters in between. Bruises across your skin, and a weariness in your face.
You start to look bleaker, paler. As if you’re not eating and sleeping enough.
One day, you won’t show up for work, and not for dinner either. He finds himself asking a superior of your absence.
The older man only gives him a tired look—“Agent thirty-six?” He tilts his head. “A missive from the hospital was received, she was found passed out by the training halls. Don’t know the exact details sonny, but it mentioned dehydration, torn sinews and ruptured muscles. She should be recuperating at the hospital by now, they’ll put her right back to work once rehabilitated.”
Rob frowns, just slightly. “Hospital you say? Can’t she recover at home?”
The superior looks to him then, cocking a brow. “Yes, but she declined.” He hums, turning away from Rob.
“Not that it matters, since her debut she was an excellent asset for the World Government but now with her latest fiasco, she’s hardly called for. Now if you’ll excuse me, agent, I have more important matters to attend to than the ongoing love lives within Cipher Pol.”
Rob stands there by the hall, watching his superior vanish behind corners with cool, dark eyes. Hattori only coos as consolation.
He waits for you by the corridors of your hospital room. Back leaned against the wall, arms crossed and pointy finger tapping. Day turning into evening, evening turning into night and when midnight hits—the door clicks open and you’ll find him still waiting. Moonlight glimmering, shadows streaking across your faces.
Rob looks to you. Your hair unkempt, cheeks pale and lips chapped. His eyes narrows.
You blink, straightening yourself. “Rob…? What are you doing here—”
He pushes himself off the wall, each step more pissed off than the last.
“What I’m doing? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He snatches your wrist, pulling you and you wince. “H-hey, what are you—”
“I don’t know what you think you’ll achieve training till your muscles tears but it ends here. I’m taking you back home.” He grips you forward, dragging you with him and you scoff—wrestling yourself free.
Your teeth grits, chest twisting and turning because how dare he? How dare he pretend to not know what caused this? How dare he show up here?
The fact that you need to be sent to the hospital to make him care—it’s insulting.
You want to scream at him, fight with him—you want to slap him across the face.
“How dare you…” you heave, body sore and chest burning. “Do you think I’m just gonna go along with you? What, because you feign concern for me? Why now? Why not then, when I was pleading for you, crying for you? Do you actually think I want to go back with you? How little do you actually think of me? Even I’m not that desperate.” Your voice shakes, your face heating but you don’t care.
His frown only pulls deeper and deeper. “Not even you is stupid enough to believe that.”
His words stings. The anger boils over.
“Yes I’m stupid, a liability, just like the papers say; Is that want you want to hear? Well here you have it. You can go now—leave. I don’t care.” You take a step forward, pointing to your chest. “Because clearly I’m only good enough to be cared for when I break and toil myself into pieces for you, other than being perfect on the constant clock—well I’m sorry, Rob, I’m not that kind of girl so you can go. Leave!” Each word is like a hiss of breath and your face burns hot and heavy.
Tears stings your vision, not from sadness but sheer bristling anger, and you turn on your heel before Rob has the chance to criticize you for that as well.
But he pulls you by the wrist. Rough, mean, cruel.
His face tense, hard—gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. He’s angry, and not the kind you see during missions or when taunted. Not measured, professional fury, no. But personal.
“Don’t turn your back on me. You think I don’t care, really?” He makes you face him—his grip on you unrelenting.
“Not even when you were bleeding out on that mission? Did I not let you cling onto my shoulder? Did I not hold you and tell you to stay put? I never cared? Even now as I’m fighting to bring you back home? A childish, ridiculous notion, one completely beneath you and I hate it.”
“Childish?” You want to laugh at his face, “Don’t you dare go there, not when you’ve given me nothing but seeping annoyance at my presence—what else would you have me think? Would you have me do? I don’t want to be what you hate: weak and unrefined.” Your voice finally cracks, and the tears you fought so hard to keep away, starts streaming down your cheeks. “Go home? Home where? To your silence? Your avoidance? Seriously Rob, how desperate do you take me for—”
Something flares up in his gaze; Rob Lucci who hides behind cold logic and ivory masks is for once forced to face something raw, beating—intimate. Feeling something dangerously close to human.
“You could have died.” His voice coarse, low—restrained.
You let out a breath.
Heart stopping, just for a moment.
“I told you to not go for it and you did it anyways,” his hand squeezes your wrist into iron. “Have you not learned your lesson? Had you listened to me—”
“I know that already!” You cut in, snatching your wrist back. Tears are spilling down your face without control and you feel like a child.
“You’ don’t need to remind me how different I am to you; I lack strength, precision and apathy, I know that and yet—God, Rob, you can be so cruel.” You hiccup, wiping your tears.
For a moment, there is a dreading, almost choking silence between you two. The kind that tightens everything between one another. Turning the knots closer, harder—threatening to snap at any turn. And when you see Rob reaching for your face you swat his hand away.
“Don’t touch me! In fact, I don’t even want to see you anymore. Go, leave like I told you, I don’t want you here—”
He clicks his tongue, threads snapping at last as he grabs you by the shoulder.
Rough, hard—desperate.
Fingers digging into your flesh.
“Damn it, I don’t understand you!” It’s a hiss, one through gritted teeth. “You were bleeding out before me; I can tell myself over and over again that you almost died because you didn’t listen but in truth? I should have pulled you out when I had the chance, I should’ve seen the attack coming but I didn’t. Is that it? Is that what you want me to say, cause there, it’s out—are you satisfied?”
And you blink. Chest empty.
“You’re angry and fine—I’ll take it.”
He does not say it, not outright but in his own words—he’s admitting defeat. The prideful and cold Rob—surrenders. His grip on your shoulders deepens, tightening so savagely you think he’s going to tear you apart.
“But come home with me. Come home and shout at me, come home and scream at me. Come home and fight with me. Just come home.”
You seethe—tears flush as you feel yourself shattering.
The anger, the frustration, the weeks spent where you’ve toiled you body into ruin finally come at collapse. Your shoulders slump, spine hunch as your heart presses dry, blood rushing through your veins.
You stagger into him, fist slamming into his chest.
“You're cruel.”
“I know.”
Another slam.
“You're cold and distant.”
“Yes.”
You hit him harder, he pulls you closer.
“And you hurt me.” You sob into his chest; pushing him, tugging him and he only tightens his arms around you.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice is quiet, too quiet—as if sharing classified information with you, one hidden behind his reserved nature and cynical manners.
You fist his sleeves to anchor yourself from your heart beating with such force, such anger it makes you stupid. A fury that does not come to calm. Strong arms holds you, keeps you—and you bury your face into him.
Sobbing, hiccuping, your weight slumping into him.
You two stay like that for awhile. Hiccups and cries echoing between the halls. Muffled into his shirt. His arms wrapped around you. Tight. Hard. Firm—as if to not let you go.
Your blood drums, hot and fast, and only when it finally starts to cool, do you shift your head.
Still shuddering, still sore and trembling.
“Take me home.”
“… That was always my objective.”
You feel him kiss the top of your hair, and you hum. Pressing your cheek deeper into his chest.
Summary: Once you both are in bed; there is nothing left to be said. Between you two, it’s quiet yes, but the kind that’s intimate. Rustling sheets, muffled kisses and soft hums. His heart is made of cold steel; heavy, tense but undeniably devoted. It’s untouched, unnerved but perhaps you can fondle it into something indelibly gentle. You realize that when he lays it open in your palm, in your heart.
Sir Crocodile
Being his lover is a bliss and even though you didn’t have to help him with work; you wanted to anyways. You nagged to him about it, you felt restless and alone at home—and eventually he caved in, assigning you to be his secretary.
It was easy, nothing physical, nothing dangerous.
Just large numbers, running schedules and flitting between messages and deliveries.
So when you sit there, legs clutched and chin low—you feel so little in the room of organized papers, tailored curtains and glass windows casting pale light across his office.
It’s quiet, intensely, deliberately. It makes it hard to breathe.
Sir Crocodile wears a frown on his face and he’s already drilled three cigars down the ashtray in the short span of half an hour. His patience threatening to snap at any given turn.
He was pissed.
And what’s worse—he’s silent. No shouting, no berating, nothing. Just cold, measured silence.
You had missed couriers, mails and appointments. Not just one or two but several. The swordmaster had nicked at him, even that sorry clown managed to squeak critic.
But that had not mattered to Crocodile, not truly—what really pissed him off was the money lost, time wasted—marines gaining an upper hand.
And who’s fault was it? Who’s fault but the once-stay-at-home-wife insisting to help only to ruin weeks of hard work?
He brought you into his office, doors shut and you thought he’d yell at you, scold you, tell you to pack your bags and stay home.
But as the sand from the hourglass trickled, he said nothing but “Sit.” pointed finger to the sofa. And you listened, bracing yourself for the on-coming insults but there is only silence.
He was lighting his cigar, taking his time enjoying the smoke and you? Your hands were on your knees, posture rigid and shoulders slump.
The silence filling the room with such choking dread you eventually gasp, not being able to let it suffocate you anymore.
You glance over. “Darling about the—"
“About the what.” He cuts you off. Sharp narrowed eyes, and you clench your hands.
“I… I didn’t notice how the numbers weren’t adding up and truly I should have doubled checked but it completely passed my mind. I’m… I’m sorry.”
For each passing score, the air grows heavier, tighter—wringing you around the neck. Something fills your chest, something hard and wretched.
For a moment he does not say anything, his eyes cold and unbecoming—before eventually placing a rough hand on his hook.
The alloy gold flashes, almost like a threat.
You flinch.
“Is that all you can offer? A sorry, measly little excuse?” He tilts his head at you, “If I had known my own lady to be so weak I would have never brought her here in the first place, and yet I did—only to be disappointed.”
The word ‘weak’ feels like a slap across the face but the mention of disappointing him? It cuts you open, your heart clutching and tears stings your vision.
Your mouth moves but the words sticks to your throat like bile.
You swallow. Trying again. “You think I’m disappointing?”
“Disappointing is an understatement: you’re useless here.” He turns away from you, “You don’t need to wait for me for dinner; fixing your rash mistakes will take my attention for awhile. Leave.”
You want to protest—you want to tell him to let you fix the wrong but his word is final. It hangs in the air like vice, and you cannot do anything but obey, less you test his patience for good.
Sir Crocodile keeps to his word. He won’t show up for dinner, or your evening tea—not even when the night is passing till midnight. He won’t call you or leave a note. The silence louder than ever.
For the oncoming days you twist and turn in bed, his side empty.
Days pass, time flows and there is no one who checks up on you—not the servants, not your friends and certainly not your lover.
Buggy’s army of goons makes jokes at your name, and those that associate themselves with the former Baroque Works whispers callously of your presence.
Your blunder has stretched a silence across the circus tent, no one says it out loud, not really; especially not in Sir Crocodile’s presence but the words are muttered. Sometimes low and hushing, other times drunk and careless.
Sir Crocodile is seated by the office, meticulously scanning over reports that holds little purpose now since the damage you’ve caused. He sets the papers down, looking to his Den-Den. No call, no note from you.
His brows pull but he does not seek you out—his absence will suit as your punishment… but that is not enough.
The men are talking and the reputation this establishment profits off of is shaking.
Your presence cannot remain, not for some time at least. He takes a puff from his cigar, until then… he’ll write a letter, fix you a stay at the summer villa—once this mess has been cleared, only then will he be able to look at you without much annoyance.
And you?
The conversation from before hurls you up, hands clutched to your chest as his words jabs at your heart like poison. The aching in your stomach becomes unbearable, pulse racing till it gets hard to breathe. The sharp tone of his voice hitting you again and again.
Measly, weak—disappointing.
You start to grow smaller, your figure of confidence crumbling like shattered bones, the once newfound excitement to be apart of something crashes down into mud and you start to see it clearly now—how stupid you really are.
Your presence a humiliation, your name an unfit puzzle and your wits an insult.
Sir Crocodile does not trust anyone to hold themselves to his standard—not even you.
You reach for the filed documents—it would take weeks, upon weeks of work to undo all your mistakes. You flip through the pages, numbers running over and over again before you look out the window. The moon quiet, the clouds dark.
You only have till next Monday.
Your hands are sore, fingers smudged with ink and your back and neck aching. You did not sleep nowadays, and even eating became tedious.
Fourteen days of scribbling, fourteen days of running back and forth, fourteen days making calls—threatening, demanding and bribing.
The servants notices how you only pick at your food, your eyes growing heavier and your bubbly nature withdrawn. And when you pass the halls? They will only see a ghost of who you used to be—something bleak and tired.
Monday comes, and Sir Crocodile and his two other peers are having their usual meeting. The swordsman sits with his arms crossed, listening and judging whilst the clown sobs up some pitiful excuse.
And when Crocodile is sure that his patience has come to a final end and leave a killing blow on Buggy; Mr. 3 will walk in.
“Errr… boss?” He peeks through the door and the three men give him their attention.
“Hey, you work for me, REMEMBER?” Buggy hollers but Mr. 3 waves him away. Striding over to the table, landing a file of documents in front of them.
Sir Crocodile’s forehead creases, that infamous condescending look etches across his face.
“And what's this?”
“It’s from erm… your lady.”
Mihawk lifts a brow and Buggy holds in a grumble.
Crocodile tilts his head, “My lady you say?” He takes the files in hand. He flips through the documents, gaze growing harder and harder, and the longer he reads the more perplexed he gets.
“what… what does it say?” Buggy tries to take a peek, but all he sees are words and numbers and lines blurring together.
The silence continues, heavy, deliberate—focused.
Crocodile looks up from the papers and Mr. 3 tenses.
“… she asked you to deliver this herself?”
“Er. Well Sir…” he clasps his hands together, “A messenger delivered it, they urged that it was sent to you immediately.”
“That was all?”
“All, sir.”
Crocodile straightens his posture, jaw clenched. Scanning the documents again.
“And?” Mihawk inquires.
“The resources have been delivered, assets secured and blackmails re-established. How? I’m asking the same thing.” He tosses the files back on the table.
It shouldn't be possible, especially not within two weeks—your blunder would have taken at least a month of recovery and yet…
For the first time in fourteen days, he returns back home. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Your heels left in disarray and the halls are lifeless. No smile, no greeting, no sight of you. A shallow, almost buzzing silence stretches on, the only sound is the dishwasher running, and the clock ticking by.
Making it to your chambers, he will find you sat by the window. Half-read letter in your lap, the white curtains fluttering as you daze out the view. A robe draped over shoulders and your hair, loose.
He says your name, low, intense.
And you turn to face him, the sound of paper crackling from your hands.
His shoulders tense at the sight of your face—dreary, pale, grim. His eyes narrow.
“A letter?” You get to your feet, “Is that what I’m worth? What, for making a mistake?” The last sentence is more breath than words—restraining yourself from shouting at him.
When you received the missive, he had already arranged a boat for you back at your summer villa. Where you two had spent your honeymoon.
You had stared at the note, over and over and over again.
A letter.
Is that all you will get?
Is that how far his love for you went?
It was insulting if not disgraceful.
You wanted to toss it out the window, rip it to shreds and see to it burnt.
If he’s going to send you away, at least… at least you deserve to be spoken to like an equal instead of some sorry patient.
“What makes you even think you can decide that for me?” You pace across the room, anger slithering through your blood—hard, rushing. Your heart burning.
“Oh maybe you think I’m so useless you can’t even trust me to take charge of my own decisions, god Crocodile at this point you might as well just say it up front of how humiliating it is to have me be your lover.”
Your chest is bristling, fury creeping up your cheeks and there is a hot white noise drilling down your ear.
And Crocodile? He does not say anything, no. All he does is pluck a new cigar, and lighter clicking lit.
Your breathing gets stuck in your throat, making you scoff in disbelief.
You stomp over, rage gripping you by the reins and you slap the lighter out his hand, clattering across the floor and you seethe, “Am I that disappointing to you, you won’t even look me in the eye when you decide to send me away? What am I, your colleague?”
Tears stings your vision as you step away only for him to snatch you by the arm, and you push at him, pull at him, insult his name but he only hisses at you.
“Do you feel better now? Throwing a tantrum like a little brat? It’s—”
“It’s what!?” You cut in, eyes defiant. “It’s measly? Embarrassing?” Your voice crack. “Well I’m sorry then, that you’ve entangled yourself with someone so weak.”
“Is that what this is about? You got your feelings hurt?” His choice of words are sharp, cutting—cruel. You look to him, face hurt and he feels himself regretting it but the damage is done. And your eyes grow cold.
“Yes.” Your voice shakes. “Can you imagine? The lover of an ex-warlord got her feelings hurt over a bit of critique, how unsightly.” You stop your pushing and squirming. Tears you so desperately wished to hide, spills down your cheek.
The letter still crumbled in your hand.
“I—” you try and bite down the words but it’s pointless. “I’ll leave. I’ll go. Since I’m not needed.”
Your chin sinks, your shoulders drop and for a moment—you two remain silent. You’re not sobbing, not hiccuping, you simply let the tears stream down your face.
All the weeks spent scribbling and calling and running back and forth has taken its toll on you—and at last, you cannot keep going. There is no strength left in you to fight, to scream and protest. You simply slump.
Sir Crocodile still has his grip on your arm, loosening, just slightly. Until his jaw clenches, teeth gritting and he tugs at you hard and firm. “Look at me.”
You shake your head, hand going to your face when you feel it getting too much.
His hook goes to your chin, cold metal making you tense—and gently, so gently, he makes you look at him.
You may act tired, angry; shouting and yelling at him as your patience has met its end, but he sees you for what you truly are — Hurt.
His lips presses and his eyes are dark, quiet, not unreadable but guarded. For the first time in a long, long while, he’s forced to meet softness like a candle flame, and not by hook and violence. He sees it; he sees you. The flame small, little—sensitive. Too harsh, too cruel and the fire lashes out, only to flutter, growing weaker and weaker.
It needs softness, it needs gentle hands and kinder words. A deal too paramount for a man like him... and yet...
His head tilts down to you, voice low and gruff.
“—Stay.”
The word leaves his mouth like a secret, and for once, his formidable and prideful walls, scatters. Crumbling like desert sand. It’s rough, coarse but beneath his armour there is something inexplicably tender, soft, and sincere.
Witnessing it, you catch a soft gasp of air.
“They were talking at the tent. I only wished you wouldn’t hear them… but I shouldn’t have sent you away. A miscalculation, an error in my making. So stay, don’t...” he grits his teeth, “Don’t go.”
He won’t say it, won’t beg for it, but from a man of his stature; that is the closest to an apology you’ll get. It’s rugged, unsaid and rasping—but it’s there.
It’s presence more closer than ever, like a warm breath against your skin, a ghost slithering their fingers with yours.
“Cross Guild will resume position, and it’s thanks to you. Your hard work paid off… I'm proud.”
Your lips wry, the letter slipping from your hands.
You let yourself shatter into him, clutching onto his chest like he’d soon turn into dust and he takes you close.
“I need you, here.” he adds the last part rather quickly. Still holding onto the facade of caution but you see him, know him.
You press deeper into him. His arms strong, firm, coming to hold you like a prayer.
Not once planning to let you go.
Summary: He won’t say the words “I am sorry, I did not mean it.” but you’ll see a vase of your favourite flowers on your desk. Find a necklace of pearls by your bed, and even your expensive perfume bottle refilled. He’ll make it up to you with gentle favours. Washing your hair in bath, securing your deliveries himself. No words, no grander gesture but the message is there. Unsaid yet paramount and present. And that holds more weight than any worded apology ever could.
Trafalgar D. Water Law
Law is a surgeon and a doctor, captain of the crew and a skilled fighter. He’s earned his reputation, and you’re not jealous over him for it—but it can be difficult standing next to Law and not feel somewhat inferior.
That fact stands apparent when you mess up—it was supposed to be an easy task.
The Heart Pirates aren’t exactly a fighting crew, and Law is not the kind of person who holds weakness against his crew members; it was his job to protect them, to take care of them. Not the other way around.
He toiled himself training and studying for that sole purpose.
He’s a doctor, not a killer.
Perhaps that’s why it stung when you decided to play the bigger man.
You had one job, one—there was no need to go an extra length, no need to believe fortune favours the bold. Yet, you took the risk, you shot the chances.
It would’ve been fine if it was only your skin at risk, then it wouldn’t be such a big deal—but getting Ikkaku and Jean Bart hurt? Throwing away all of Shachi’s and Penguin’s efforts to keep you safe? Forcing Bepo to abandon post to aid you only for the submarine meet terrible, terrible damage?
And despite all this, whatever you were trying to achieve, it failed.
Nothing gained, nothing worth the damage.
Law doesn’t put blame on his crew mates—but there was a limit to how much stupidity he could take.
The battle ended, and a defeated silence hangs over the crew. Your friends are badly injured, Ikkaku and Jean unconscious from blood loss and Shachi and Penguin are picking up what little medicine and bandages they could save.
It’s a mess.
Fire and smoke from the Polar Tang.
Food, medicinal supplies and resources gone spoiled.
And you?
Like the cherry on top—you are left unscathed. The only one who isn't hurt, who haven’t lost any of their valuables; the only one who caused all of this ruckus. And all of the others had to pay for it.
Like twisting vines it gnaws at you, even as you hold the pressure over Ikkaku’s wound—the guilt storming into you like snow; festering you frozen, eating you cold. A hand lands on your shoulder and you glance, eyes teary, only to see Law behind you. “Move. I’ll handle this.”
“Law, I—”
“Let’s talk later.” His words are final and you move, letting him take care of your friend.
The day turn into evening; you say your apologies but no one blames you for it. Sure, some of them scolds you, only to laugh it off next second. Bepo still smiles and offers help, Penguin and Shachi still pass you encouragements and when Ikkaku regains consciousness, she’ll hold your hand and thank you for stopping the bleeding.
It makes your eye twitch—you rather have them yell at you, avoid sitting next to you; instead of acting like it’s no big deal. Your rashness put the whole crew in a blunder, and no one even thinks to blame you for it?
It feels fake, and underserving.
Once Law is finally out of the operating room, there’ll be darker circles under his eyes. His energy low and dreary, one that he insists will be fixed by some good sleep—but as captain, sleep is hardly given without being called to deck. Reparations are to be made, supplies restocked and a course need to be settled. Between this and that, there is hardly any time at all for you two to speak.
And once he catches you by the halls? You’ll freeze like a deer in the headlights and Law only narrows his eyes, cold, sharp—bare of affection. “Law about last time I…” you wry your lips. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”
“Done something so stupid?” His tone is flat and you stiffen and look to him.
“I didn’t mean to be a burden.” You say, voice firm. Fingers clutching your sleeves but Law only inclines his head. Sighing. You both know you weren't trying to be a burden, but that doesn’t mean you weren't.
“yeah, I know.” That’s all the consolation he gives, before passing you.
You whirl your head to him, wanting to say something more but the words stick to your throat.
What is there to say? What is there to fix?
The problem here isn’t him but you. You’re the dead weight. You’re the weakling.
You you you you—you.
A voice, soft almost sweet, makes it to your ear. “You’re an embarrassment. Too slow, too weak.” It slides into you like a cold silver blade. Pressing into your sides; dissecting you, tearing you over and under—making you lurch. Law is efficient, focused—precise. Everything you aren’t and you can’t stand it. Your friends are too kind, and Law is too perfect. The gap between you two deepens, one that you tear at yourself.
And like that, the spiral of self-hatred starts.
The repairs of the Polar Tang will take at least a month of proper fixing with the current funds—and the whole crew will be left restless throughout the days.
And Law? He’ll have to approve of the blueprints by the shipwrights, find work for the others, tend to Jean Bart’s wounds, and find the rest of his meagre spare time studying history and medicine.
He’ll be busy, too busy but not busy enough to not see the blisters between your palms and bandaged arms. He looks to you as you eat; tired eyes, colourless cheeks and stiffer smiles. It makes him pull his brows and frown.
“Hey.” He grabs your arm before you leave the table, “Where'd you get those?”
You blink, eyes heavy. “Just training.”
His brow quirks up at that: “Training?… that’s not like you.”
“And what does that mean?” Your voice harsh, insecurity gripping you, finding offence in his comment despite it being innocent. He gives you a cool, calm look. “I’m not poking at you. I jus’ don’t wanna see you burn yourself out. Get some rest for tonight, yeah?”
“… mhn, okay, I will.” You lie, giving him a soft smile and it convinces him. He let’s you go, completely unaware of what you’re doing by the training grounds.
The crew starts seeing less of you, you don’t partake in idle chatter or linger after your chores. During dinner, Bepo will glance around—asking Law if he’s seen you and the man notices it too. Skipped meals, less attendance and your mood grown snappier. And whatever it is—you refuse to talk to him about.
You’ll spend your nights beating yourself up over it, hands riddled with cuts and bruises, your body sore and tender as you get yourself up from the ground. And even then, you hear the voice from before tell you: “Not good enough. Still too weak, still too slow. A burden.”
Days turn into weeks, and Law will note how you no longer wish to sleep next to him. It was in the midst of his studying, 03:00 and there is still no sight of his girl.
Closing the book, he goes to find you.
The night is dark, and your trail runs deeper into the forest. Law didn’t know what he was expecting to find when he came to search for you, maybe fixing some money for the repairs, or just going on a late night walk, anything but the sight he sees before him; one that makes him freeze mid step.
Crumbled on the ground, hunched before a stone wall riddled with cracks and crevices.
You were heaving, gasping. Knees scraped, palms blistered and muscles on the edge of tearing.
You hurl yourself up, wiping sweat from your forehead before trying again, and just before you could swing another punch, he calls out your name. Harsh, strained—angry.
But you do not hear him, your mind is at daze and the only focus is to fix whatever that is wrong with you.
You keep moving, swinging—hurting yourself.
And for each reckless punch, he gets more pissed off than before.
“Hey—” He stomps over, mud squelching down his boot but you don't stop. Each stride closer sets the rise of heat in his chest; bristling, hot and rushing.
He says your name and you still don’t care.
Blood cracks from your knuckles, and skin slick with sweat. You go for another swing, another slam—and Law has had enough.
He snatches you by the shoulder, his hand hard on your elbow, pulling at you but you don’t stop. Your fist keeps hitting the stone walls, punches leaving stains of blood and Law practically tears you off from there.
“Let go!” You fight him, thrash against him but he does not give you the chance to flee.
“Let go—”
“Enough!” He hisses, turning you to face him. Your face is streaked with tears, dirt sticking to your cheeks and lips dry and cracked.
“Law—”
“Don’t you ‘Law’—me; the hell are you doing!?”
His grip on you is unrelenting, fingers digging into your flesh and you gasp, trying to squirm yourself free but it’s no use.
Your teeth grit, not being able to meet him in the eye.
“Let go!”
"Why should I!? I don’t know what you think you’re doing tearing yourself into pieces like this but this stupidity ends here.”
You shake your head, jaw clenching. Wrist attempting to pull themselves free but it’s useless. His hold on you is iron and you grimace.
“Get off of me, this doesn’t concern you. Not in the slightest.”
“Hah?” At that, his patience snaps. “This doesn’t concern me? You’re breaking yourself apart and I’m supposed to just not give a shit? Who the hell do you think you are to me?”
“What does it matter! Just leave, go!” Your voice shakes—your chest burning with such intensity you swear your heart will combust.
Anger, fury, fear and embarrassment cooking itself into a brine, hatred coming to boil. You don’t want him here, you don’t want him to see your failed attempts to fix your faults, your deprecating tries to adjust your mistakes. Call it rash, call it stupid but gods be damned if you let him witness anything more.
You kick at him, scream at him—insult his name and bearings. You push and slam against him.
And Law only clenches his jaw, his grip on you slips, and before you know it; you are pressed against the wall.
Being pushed against the hard stone knocks the words right out of you, he holds your wrists, locking them by the sides of your head. You twist and you turn but it's no use.
“Hey, calm down will you!?”
You wince and he presses you harder against the wall.
“Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”
“No.” You bite back and Law clicks his tongue.
“Dammit, must you be so stubborn!? Lower your pride for once, can't you see it’s breaking you?”
“You don’t know anything—”
“Then let me know.” His grip on your grows softer, voice turning pleading. “I’m here aren't I?”
And you catch your breath. His breath hot on your face and you shudder. Feeling impossibly weak.
“You’ll find me stupid.”
His eyes narrows, “Then you don’t know me.”
“You’ll deem me weak.”
“I don’t care.”
His hold on you tighten and your heart crashes, your cheeks burning red and your knees weaken. Jaw shaking, unable to formulate anything properly as your insecurity shatters you whole.
The weeks spent battering yourself into breaking, the times you’ve toiled your body over and over again with not so much a rest—makes you crack.
Crumbling into a sobbing, whining, mess.
Law’s hold on you grows softer and softer still—hands on your wrists loosen and you immediately cup your face. Blood from your knuckles mixes with the tears streaming down your cheeks and you whine.
“I’m sorry.” Is the first and the only thing you can think of saying. You start hiccuping, the restrained sobs getting to you. “About getting in the way. Had I not… had I not weighed you down, then none of it would have happened.”
His brow’s eases and he reaches for you but you shift your head away.
Feeling such embarrassment.
“ I don’t want… I don’t want to be your burden. Unlike you I’m useless, a measly idiot that no one needs and it’s humiliating.”
He tenses, eyes growing sharp. “Is that it? Is that why you’re tearing your muscles and body apart because you think yourself weak?”
“I am weak, that’s a fact—”
“Don’t give me that crap.” He grabs you hard by the shoulders, almost wishing to shake some sense into you. “Say what you want but hurting yourself to undo the past isn’t going to help, and I don’t care if you think you’re useless; I need you. I need you. So… stop.” He says, more breath than words. His hold on your shoulder weaken, and he slumps into the crook of your neck. Pulling you close and hard.
“Come with me. Lemme’ help you.”
And you shudder, your hands creeping onto his shoulder blades. Tugging him like he’s the sole thing in this world that makes sense. You nod, humming.
And Law does not let you go.
Summary: He carries you on his back, and the silence between you two is not awkward, not strange but resting. Soft. The crackle of branch and leaves sends you into a quiet slumber, and once back; Law does not wake you up, no. He wipes your face, cleans your wounds, carefully, methodically, so not to startle you awake. And once done, Law tucks you into bed. When morning comes you’ll find his arms wrapped around your waist. As if to tell you he won’t see you go, and will always need you close.
Donquixote Doflamingo
Ah, it’s difficult isn’t it?
Having a narcissistic flamboyant peacock doting on you can feel a lot like a game of fire. Close and steady, and he’ll be all warmth and softness, much like candle-wax but if you aren’t careful, it will be no one but your own fault for getting burnt. And this time, you got more than just a few burn marks—this time you met with something far worse.
Your job was nothing physical, nothing dangerous.
It was all running schedules, dispatched funds and messages delivered. And still, you somehow managed to mess up.
By a dark alley, you had been threatened. A gun to your head, a figure demanding information only the Executives should know about—and sure, you relented but you’re not your lover, you’re not hard and enduring and resilient, you’re just… you. You had been beaten blue and like that—blackmails lost, funds gone to waste and assets stolen.
It compromised the Family’s safety and the Officers assigned positions.
And It’s not that Doflamingo is unforgiving within the realm of mistakes, if his family couldn’t fulfil a task then it’s only his fault for overestimating their abilities. A pretty little sorry always works as a ticket for his forgiveness and with you, a soft peck on the cheek did just as fine.
But there is only so much weakness and stupidity he can have patience for.
He was lenient on you, too lenient and it finally paid its price.
The air in the throne room is stale. Standing at the centre, your hands clutched together as Doflamingo sits by the window seat. And he wasn’t frowning or shouting at you, no right now, he’s worse than that.
He’s quiet, too quiet.
No cocky smirk, no mocking tone—just silence. Nudging his brow and his face is grim. Veins bulging on his forhead like they’re ready to pop.
Your chest tight, and your shoulders rigid—And his eerie, almost suffocating silence doesn’t help.
Eventually, you gather the courage to speak up.
“Doffy, I’m sorry… I didn’t know what else to do, I tried I did.” You flail out your hands, “I know I should have just tried harder, I’m sorry.” You inch near, hand on his shoulder and when he looks to you.
“Ah. You’re sorry.” His tone is mocking and you freeze.
He takes your hand, his fingers rubbing yours. “And what would you have me do with your ‘sorry’?”
You blink as a jolt of pain spikes up your throat; he’s wrapped strings around your neck. You try and jerk away but to no use.
“D-Doffy…?” You wince, but Doflamingo doesn’t care. Instead he grabs your wrist.
Hard and firm.
“I’m disappointed, nah, disappointed is an understatement—I’m beyond that now.” The hold on your throat tightens, and you choke. Knees slumping to the floor.
“It’s one thing to mess up, it’s another thing to betray the Family because of a gun to your head. Now, Vergo walks on ice and Sugar’s ability almost came into light… And what’s worse, it was for nothing. The blackmails gone, hostages escaped and weeks of planning gone to waste. For someone so pretty, you’re also the most dense idiot I’ve ever crossed.”
“I—” You try and tell him how it really went but there is no point. The strings only pull harder against your skin, making you gasp.
Spit drooling down your chin.
You were choking. Literally speaking. Your vision going in and out, your face staggering from pale grey to blue—and before he does something he’s sure to regret, he snaps the strings away.
The newfound air feels like priced sand. It’s dry, it’s coarse but you take it anyway.
You’re wheezing, gasping—never has he been this cruel, this violent with you before and it makes you shudder.
For the first time since you met him; you were afraid. Truly afraid.
Just barely, you manage to look up to him.
Veins were bulging above his brows, his jaw clenched and teeth gritted. “Cleaning your mess have taken plenty of my patience. So get out.”
You feel yourself run cold, your heart stings.
But there’s no point pissing him off even more now, so, like the used up rag you are, you fumble to your feet, weak and heavy as you make it out of the room.
You dragged yourself to the bathroom, staring at your neck in the mirror. The purple marks faints into grey, and your hands are starting to shake.
It’s going to bruise.
And not only that; it’s going to swell.
Testing your voice makes you hold back a cry.
You could saunter to Mansherry, but with your latest blunder, you hardly think Giolla will allow a visit. For the time being, you won’t be able to speak for awhile.
For a moment, you let it all sink in.
The man you loved never once raised a hand at you, even when you witnessed his cruelty outside your relationship—that surging violence, that twisted temper and that viscousness of a demon was something that sat distant from you.
You where doted on, spoiled rotten like a pampered pet. He only hurt those of no value to the Family, he only discarded people like trash were they of no use—and somehow you believed yourself immortal from it.
But now?
Almost passing out from suffocation? Your neck swollen purple, unable to speak without spiking pain?
That act of violence, the mark of bruises proof that for a split second; Doflamingo saw you lower than dirt.
You whimper, hand to your neck.
You feel like such a fool, such an idiot. Had you only kept your mouth shut and taken those beatings without a cry, then you would not be here—feeling like a useless lump of flesh.
When night comes, the bed will be empty.
The shadows casting over the furniture feel somewhat sharper and once under the blankets, you will feel cold. Despite the heaters being on, despite it being summer, your skin still shudders. And you know it’s not just warmth your body longs for, no, it’s him. It’s always him.
You want to tiptoe out of bed and find him, talk to him, cling onto him, and feel his heat radiate into you. But his absence is an answer in itself so you only turn over.
Hands clutching your stomach, as you try and keep the sobs down so not to strain your already swollen throat but it’s no use. You wheeze out your cries, gasp out your whimpers—and Doffy won’t be there to hold you close.
The lower ranks of the Donquixote family are starting to talk. They know better than to mutter about you in a careless manner but jokes of your name sometimes passes. Loud and drunk and other times careful and hushing.
Never within earshot of the Executives, and never, never in Doflamingo’s presence. The first time it crossed his path, became its last. The idiot suffered their fate by a cut up face and it was only then Doffy realised he couldn't have you strut about the palace halls… at least for a while.
Not until things cooled down since your latest fiasco, till then—a pretty little birdcage should suit just fine as punishment.
Waking up, you realise something strange.
There are books, expensive paint, brushes and pencils by the coffee table, tons of them. And breakfast. And a canteen with lemon water. You stride to the door but it won’t budge. You slam against it, jerk and hit but it’s no use. It’s been barricaded from the outside.
You start screaming for someone to open but there is nothing.
You stagger away from the door, not truly realising what is going on.
You test opening the windows and it is as you feared.
They remain frozen shut.
Every possible siren in your head is going wild—and in a haste you grab something blunt, something heavy and toss it against the windows. The glass shatters but the object you threw does not make it outside, no.
It bounces back onto the floor.
… that’s not normal.
You inch near the window, squinting you see something glint. Small, impossibly insignificant and yet as you get closer, you see it for what it is. Strings.
Barring you from escaping your room.
“No way… he didn’t…”
Oh but he did. And you feel yourself getting nauseous.
You spot a note on the coffee table—pink and tiny.
‘Have a week to self-reflect, see it as… secluded vacation’
A dreary almost buzzing silence drills into your head as your reality starts dawning on you.
He’s caging you in here.
Like some misbehaving little pet, and that realisation feels like a punch in the gut.
Even as you bang against the door, even as you scream for his name—cursing it, belittling it—begging for him to let you out, your attempts are for nothing. No one hears or cares, and your lover certainly doesn’t.
You bury your face in your hands.
You feel so stupid, so incredibly stupid it makes you angry.
The spite in you only grows, writhing through your blood until you snatch the files of documents from your drawer. Eyes drilling into the papers like you’re about to commit murder. Numbers and numbers and numbers running in your head.
You look to your right—the Den Den still works. You look to your left--you have enough ink and paper to make it happen.
You press your lips; you only have till next week.
Days pass and the times the servants checks up on you; you gradually grow bleaker and bleaker. You don’t skip your meals, no, instead you rather gorge yourself into them. From the isolated walls, cramping wrists and little sleep—food is the only thing you can look forward to.
Your mood grows snappier, your temper unbearable and when a servant tries reasoning with your lover’s choice of confiding you in here—you toss pillows and books at their feet.
Despite this, Doffy still won’t seek you out. You can try and pretend otherwise but truly all you want is him.
You want to speak to him, talk to him, make things right again but he rather not see you. So beneath the anger, and fury and all the acts of defiance; you’re scared, hurt.
And it eats you up.
A week goes and Doflamingo is sat by the throne room; Trebol huffing something that completely eluded his interest. His patience was already at negatives and the reports delivering zero value isn’t helping.
He was tapping his foot, with Trebol being all up in his space, all boogers and snoot, Doffy’s temper was sure ready to snap at any second—until Baby 5 walks in.
“Young Master?” She pops her head in and the two men turn to her.
Baby 5 whips up a file of documents, “Young Mistress asked me to deliver this.”
“Oh?”
“Behe?” Trebol leans slightly forward, “Isn’t she still under house arrest—is there something you’re not telling us Baby 5~”
She snuffs her chin up, “Tch. A week has passed anyways so don’t accuse me of being sneaky, Mr. Boogers.”
“Beh! You’ll crush my heart if you keep going.”
Doflamingo tosses the former reports onto the table, waving for Baby 5 to come closer. “Go on then, show me.”
Doffy takes the papers and when he looks them over, he frowns. He goes over the reports again and again and again before releasing a tiny scoff of amusement.
“And? Pleasing news I suppose, Doffy?” Trebol tilts his head.
“She’s reestablished the blackmails, resources and the information they extracted has been proved false—cheeky girl.” he leans forward in his chair, grin etched onto his face.
“Behe, In such a short notice?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Doflamingo gets up from his seat, “Take care of the rest for me, Trebol. A birdie told me she wants her wings set free.”
Doflamingo is a man of higher expectations; there is a reason he’s so self absorbed after all, so you cannot blame him to expect you running up to him, face lunging into his chest, sniffling and clingy like the little puppy you are.
So you can only imagine how he feels when the door to your chamber creaks open, and there is nothing but a dreary, almost grim atmosphere cast across the walls.
The air is stuffy, the light is grey and by the far end, you stand there in your nightgown, your hair loose.
And when your face turns to him, there is no flushed cheeks, no tears and certainly no smile begging for his attention.
No.
You’re looking at him like he’s dead to you.
“fufu, darling, you look cheery.” He says, trying for a smile but you only frown harder.
“Don’t ‘darling’—me. The hell do you take me for?”
He flails his arms out, almost as if to invite you to drop this act and run into his arms already. “Don’t be like that sweetheart, the past is the past, I’m here now aren’t I—”
He doesn’t know where you got it, but you throw a bottle past his shoulder. Sticky wine splatters across the wall.
Doffy glances back to you, not saying anything.
“Don’t give me that crap! Don’t you dare!!" You’re heaving, you’re frowning—you’re upset.
And what can he possibly offer to tempt your submission… he wonders and he wonders.
You start pacing across the room.
“Not when that simply only applies to you—you ignore me, you treat me like I’m ghost and then what? You lock me up in my own room! And not for a day, no, a whole week. Are you kidding me? What am I? Your pet? I probably am in others eyes—god I feel like an idiot!”
Your hands goes to your head, “I probably am, considering the fact I’m being treated like one! Yeah, I’m your little stupid puppet to play with and as soon as I even give you an ounce of disappointment, that’s when I get tossed into the closet like a toy who’s lost its glint!” You whirl your head to him, pointing to your chest, “Well I’m sorry Doflamingo; I’m sorry I cannot be perfect on the clock, truly, so, so, very, sorry.”
Tears you’ve so painstakingly tried to hold back starts streaming down your face and you quickly go to wipe them.
Doffy inclines his head, “Is that what this is about? You’re upset over your punishment?”
He has that tone; that tone when he’s being condescending, when he’s looking down on someone. A tone he’s never used on you, or so you must have believed.
You catch your breath, trying to stop yourself from sobbing. “Don’t speak to me like that! Like I’m some child!”
A corner of his lip jerks a bit, “Don’t you think you’re acting like one?”
You let out a scoff, tears of disbelief as you fist your nightgown. “You’re being cruel.”
And at that—he snaps.
“Cruel? Why you possibly wound me calling me cruel.” He stomps over to you and you brace yourself to be slapped across the face but instead he grabs your shoulders. Hard, firm—desperate. “You’re the one who got herself in this situation—”
“Me?” Your lips start quivering, “What have I done wrong, except for trying my best?” Your voice breaks, the sobs spilling out of you like a dam. “You’re horrible. You’re the worst and I hate this.”
His grip on your shoulders tightens, “Hate this?” He leans down, “You hate me?” He says it almost as if for once he's... hurt.
You wince, curling into yourself.
Head moving away from his. “Please let go.”
For a moment, there is a stiff, stiff silence between you two. The kind of silence that’s heavy, tight. Like strings pulling onto one another, turning it over and under till it suffocates, teetering you both to the core of this wound, this pain beneath it all. And when that happens, only then does Doflamingo dare to slip off his mask of arrogance and self-worship—his voice unusually restrained. As if trying to be as gentle, and as kind as possible.
“You compromised the Family.”
“I said I’m sorry—”
“Shut up and listen to me for once woman.”
You catch your breath.
“They were talking, the lower ranks. Called you… not such nice things.” He leans in, trying to catch your eyes. Finger going to the point of your throat, still tender after him choking you. “And you wouldn’t be able to speak up for yourself.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful?”
“No.” His brows pulls at that, “but I am.”
“What?”
“That you’re here.” His nose brushes with yours, “When they brought you back after that assault from the alley, you were all bruised up. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I was angry, so angry I couldn’t do anything to keep you safe. You made me feel so powerless and I hated it.”
He cringes having to admit that, and immediately slips on a small grin, leaning back. “There. I’ve said it. Are you satisfied?”
You pull him forward by the collar, trying your best not to scream at him, yell and cry to him. “Why didn’t you-… why didn’t you just start with that.”
He smiles, a genuine one. “Have I ever told you how hard it is to please you?”
“Well you’ve failed.”
“You're breaking my heart. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” The words are mocking but you hear it, see it—the taunting tone a disguise for his sincerity.
Doflamingo doesn’t say ‘sorry’ but that is the closest thing you’ll get.
And you heave, the anger that once coursed through you has gone numb—and all you’re left with is the feeling of wanting him near you again.
You stagger into him, pushing your face in his chest, taking his scent in. “You’re the worst.”
“Buuut?”
You dig your face deeper and he pulls you closer. “But I forgive you.”
Summary: You’ll still be moody for awhile, and he does not chastise you for it no—in fact, he finds it funny. He’ll make it up to you, one way or another. He makes you feel wanted, needed. Slower kisses, gifts piling and your favourite flowers in every window. Anything and everything—and like the fool you are, you sink into it.
Roronoa Zoro
(This was so hard, I can’t see Zoro being moody when his s/o messes up, especially after apologising. I mean he has Luffy and Usopp around him 24/7—so i’m sorry if it came out chopped)
You couldn’t have done anything to prevent it—but maybe, if you only held your guard up and stood firm, none of this would have happened.
A battle had broken out, and the crew had gone against an enemy. Robin got hurt protecting you, and her arm started gushing blood. You panicked, hand flying to catch her but Zoro pushed you away. “Move.”
“But Zoro, Robin— I—”
“You’re just gonna get in the way, so go.” And like that, he stuffs Wado Ichimonji to his mouth, and parry the incoming attacks. His tone was curt, short—it makes you feel weird, but you take Robin and go.
After the battle, you are on your knees, and the whole of the crew is looking. Everyone is battered and tired and only Nami has the energy to scold you.
“What were you thinking!” Nami paces across the deck “You could have gotten yourself killed, which you would have if Robin didn’t save you!”
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to get in the way.” Your chin is low, eyes not meeting.
“Nami…” Robin waves her off, “It’s fine. It’s just a gash. I’m just glad she’s safe.”
Nami sighs, hands on her hips. “You need to be more careful, putting yourself in that situation isn’t wise.”
“But I—”
“Nami’s right.” Zoro was leaning against the wall, and he pushes himself off of it. He strides over, looking down on you. “If you can’t fight, then stay out of it. We can’t all babysit you.”
“Zoro!” Nami cuts in but you shake your head. Getting to your feet. “Yeah. You’re right, sorry.”
You don’t wait for their reply as you leave.
Nami and Robin glances to one another, worried.
“Hey. Why did you have to word it like that? She’s your girlfriend, go after her!” Nami slaps Zoro on the shoulder but he gives her a look, their voices starting to fade out as you walk away from them.
“It’s true and you know it, we can’t coddle her or else she won’t learn.”
“She’s not a child!”
“No, exactly.” He says, short, firm—final. That’s his reasoning for not comforting you, and he leaves you to your misery.
Later in the day, you’ll catch Zoro by the halls and you freeze at the sight of him. He tilts his head at you, saying your name so casually it almost feels wrong. “Been looking for you, you good?”
You press your lips, knuckles clenched. Eyes darting as you try and find the words, and the courage.
“Do you… do you really think I’m weak?”
Zoro blinks, “Hah?”
“From before, do you really think I’m weak?”
He lets a sigh out from his chest, striding over to you and places a palm on top of your hair. “In combat, yes.” His words stings your heart. “—but we all have our strengths. You do what I cannot do, and I do what you cannot do. A fair trade, yeah?”
“… Yeah.”
He gives you a small smile, ruffling up your hair. “I’m gonna help Usopp with something, so don’t stay up for me. It might take awhile.”
His words should reassure you, should make things right again—but for some reason, you feel even worse.
You glance behind your shoulder, watching your swordsman leave. The only sound are his boots thudding down the halls, drifting further and further away, and the aching knowledge that you serve no true purpose cleaves you open. Your confidence wilting, your ground turning into mud as you sink into self-hatred.
When days start to pass, you pretend everything is fine. You try to be cheery; you laugh at their jokes and resume with their banters, but deep down—you feel wrecked. You feel like deadweight, like a piece of limb that no one needs.
When night comes, you always sit up a bit later than everybody else, noticing everything wrong with you. And Zoro won’t be here to hold you, console you—whisper lazy praises in your ear, no. Ever since that day, he’s withdrawn from you. Training or napping on his own.
It makes you feel unwanted, unneeded. And maybe you are.
Everyone has a role in the Strawhat pirates, everyone has their unique set of strengths and abilities but what about you? You cannot stand your ground, you cannot even keep your guard up to save your friend.
What makes you think you have the right to be around them? What makes you think you even have the strength to keep up with them?
An aching, almost devastating feeling makes it to your stomach, one that makes it hard for you to breathe. Clutching your waist, you see it clearly now; how silly you have been. There is only one way for you to fix this—to fix you.
The crew starts seeing less of you, vanishing behind training halls and though they try and encourage you, it falls on deaf ears.
And with Zoro, you start avoiding him like he’s the plague.
You talk to anyone who isn’t Zoro, stand next to anyone who isn’t Zoro and you make eye contact with anyone who isn’t Zoro. In truth, it makes him clench his jaw, grit his teeth but he won’t say anything.
Only when you start looking bleaker, paler, as if you’re not sleeping enough and no one can truly pinpoint why, does Zoro reach out to you. Sitting close during dinner.
You stiffen when he leans in, eyeing your bruised arms hidden between the bandages.
“Oi, where’d you get those?”
You shrug. “Don’t worry, just er... Experimenting.”
“Experimenting?” He cocks a brow and you take your plate.
“Thank you for the meal Sanji!” And off you go.
Zoro is a laid back man, one who watches, observes and then takes action. He isn’t necessarily one who plans but rather assesses the situation before landing his strike. And he does just that with you; how you hide your bruises and blisters away, how you scurry away during free time only to return distant and exhausted.
He’s patient, he let’s you have your distance but there is only so much cold-shoulder he can take from you before he eventually snaps.
The crew was partying; drinks, food, loud music and good company and even then, you don’t linger for long.
Your plate is left untouched, unwanted. Luffy looks to you, “Not eating that?” He says, mouth stuffed and you shake your head. He finishes it for you, and when you leave, he munches as he looks to Zoro.
“Hey, shouldn’t you talk to her.”
He twitches, “Nah.”
“Why?”
“Just not in the mood.”
“Okay I see.” he stuffs another bite. “But you really should though.” He says, before gorging into another piece of meat.
And Luffy’s right. Zoro should go talk to you but its you who’s avoiding him despite his effort.
You’re the most complicated woman he’s ever met and it pushes him on the edge.
He returns his attention to the booze, drinking, and drinking, and drinking. Zoro doesn’t get drunk, but this time, he might have had a little bit too much as he gets up to his feet—staggering his way to find you.
He finds you by the training grounds, staring at your blistered palms.
There is a quiet sadness in you, one that can be found with how your shoulders are slumped, your eyes low and posture dipped. He approaches, low… and steady. Eyes on you.
And when you hear gravel cracking, turning to him—he halts.
Your eyes are swollen, cheeks are wet and your hands are torn.
He says your name, slow, careful. “What is this? What are you doing?”
He takes a step forward but you take a step back. You bite your lower lip, clenching your ruined hands closed but you don’t care about the pain. “Nothing that concerns you, so you can leave.”
“Hah?”
You turn away, “What is it that’s so hard to understand? I want to be alone.”
“You don’t mean that. Look at you, you won’t even face me when you lie.”
“I’m not lying,” you speak over him, knuckles turning white. “It doesn’t concern you, not in the slightest, so don’t pretend to care when you don’t.”
He strides over, each step more pissed off than the last and you gasp as he snatches you by the wrists.
“I don’t care? You’re the one who’s been giving me the cold shoulder for the past weeks, so don’t give me that crap!”
“It doesn’t matter, and it especially doesn’t matter to you. After all I just get in the way, don’t I?”
“What are you talking about—”
“Just leave me! Go! I don’t care. I’m not a child who needs to be coddled after all.” You wince, trying to squirm away but he won’t let you. His grip is iron. “Is it about last time? Really? You’re still hooked up on that? Don’t be stupid—”
“Yes! I’m stupid, and I’m weak, and I am just a burden. I mean seriously, what more needs to be stated.” You whip your head away, refusing to meet his gaze and for a moment, he stops.
He lets you go, and you take your space.
“I upset you.” He says it as a fact and your chin drops even lower. He sees your hands, and takes them in his, looking them over.
They’re torn; covered in blisters and cuts.
He sighs inwardly, looking to you. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” And only then do you manage to meet his gaze.
“No, you did. And that’s what’s breaking me.” your voice shakes, “I’m not like you or the others. I don’t serve a purpose, I don’t…” you try and swallow the words down but it’s pointless. “I don’t make a difference. Here or not here.”
You want to take your hands away, but Zoro’s grip on you is hard, unrelenting. “… You really believe that?”
You look away, but gently, carefully, he takes you by the chin and makes you meet his eye. His gaze is dark, focused and solely set on you.
You feel yourself growing smaller under him but when he leans in, you catch a waft of alcohol from his mouth.
And that is when you see it—his cheeks are lightly coloured, not much, not a lot but it’s there, and his hands are clammy, warm. Almost too warm.
“… Are you drunk?”
“I want you here.” His voice rasps, low and quiet. You catch your breath.
“Zoro—”
“—I need you here” He presses his lips onto you and cups your head from behind. His kiss is clumsy, stupid, and utterly needy.
“H-hey--mffh”
“Stop saying—, thinking stupid stuff.” You fist his sleeve and he kisses harder.
You step back only so you can breathe.
“I’m sorry.” He kisses you again, “I’m sorry.” And again and again. Apologies and kisses mixed all in between, your head growing dizzy.
“Zoro!” He only stops when you push him by the chest. You blink, you’ve known him for so long and you’ve never once seen this man even remotely close to being influenced.
“You’re tipsy.”
“Because you’ve been avoiding me, and I couldn’t stand it.” He says, drunk and foolish.
He clutches your arms hard, firm—desperate. “I want you, need you, anything that comes with you; I want. So...” He lands his face on the crook of your neck, and his weight slumps into yours. “So don’t say that. You’re not weak, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
You let out a breath, feeling yourself weaken under him. He wraps his arms around you, holding onto you like you anchor him back to reality.
The disappointment and anger and sadness you’ve once felt? All these weeks spent toiling and breaking yourself? All the days and nights you’ve sat up pointing out all your flaws and cons? The self-hatred building itself into a tower? It falls apart within his embrace.
You see your hands wrapping themselves around his back, clutching, tugging. Holding back your tears.
“You can be too nonchalant for your own good, Zoro.”
“… Mnh.” He digs his face into your neck. “Come back to the party. Come back to the ship. Come back to me. Just come back.” You hear him muffle into your skin and you feel tears stings your vision.
Zoro doesn’t beg, but for you? Maybe he can.
Summary: By the back of the ship, where it's just the two of you, he tends to your torn hands. Dabbing alcohol, wrapping bandages and kiss your temples. There is nothing more to be said between you two, nothing more but a warm hand locked onto yours. He won’t say it, but to him, it is a promise. To keep you close, to keep you near, to see you happy. A promise he makes, and a promise he keeps.
i can't believe i really wrote this.
A/N: based on this request and this ask. this is so unserious. and serious at the same time. it's killing me. this one is just based on my personal thoughts, no maths involved, so size for some characters isn't the same than on my random math nerdy analysis. and YES, ikr some size aren't even humanly possible. oda decided to do unrealistic ass heights, so i’m matching his freak.☆
CW: gn!reader (just a bit of afab!reader only for marco), just pure smut lol
WC: 6,1k. i wrote a fucking widickpedia.
one piece masterlists. ☆ my ko-fi
Eustass Kid
7.8 inches - massive ego, massive dick, he needs some backup to be so arrogant.
A pure shower. Thick and veiny as hell. Even his cock looks angry, especially when it twitches. It sounds threatening and daring you to touch. Kid is always stretching you out so much you can barely recall your own name for a few minutes, your walls so tight, clenching around him, feeling every single vein and ridge as he sinks deep inside you, fat tip trying to fuck your soul out of your body. “I know it's big, tell me somethin' I don't already know.”
Backshots, backshots, backshots.
This man is breathing for backshots. He's an ass man. Slamming into you roughly from behind, hand gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. The second he stops to hold you, you know what’s going to happen. Rough spank on your ass, leaving red handprints on your skin. And he does it again, just for the dark satisfaction of watching the little jiggles of your flesh, how hard you’re whining into the pillow or against the wall. “Keep cryin’, it turns me on.” He’s fucking you so hard, tears always spill from your eyes, lewd noises of skin slapping against skin filling the room, Kid’s raspy, husky breath driving you insane with desire. Don’t you dare turn your head to look at him with a lovey dovey expression, all he will do is pin your face against the mattress, keeping you helpless and at his mercy until you’re fucked dumbed, drooling on the sheets.
Donquixote Doflamingo
11 inches - dick as massive as his charisma
“I’m not even halfway,” is his favorite thing to say as he watches you sweat and squirm pathetically with every inch pushed deep inside you. He’s taking his time, but don’t mistake it for kindness; he’s just drinking in the sight of your face totally wrecked when he’s only halfway, how obscene your hole is stretched around his girth, how you look at him with big eyes silently hopping he’s balls deep inside. But his maniac laugh says everything as he slams the rest of his length deep inside you, so deep it feels like he’s rearranging your guts. The worst thing when you watch him undress for the first time is to think it's already big, only to find out this bastard is a grower. That wicked grin on his face when he gets hard and watches the colors leave your face? Terrifying. He’s such a sadist he loves to make you count the inch when he buries himself into you and if you lose, you’re doomed.
Mean missionary, custom cowgirl, master of shibari.
Doflamingo is kinky as hell, even a romantic position turns into something obscene with him. You’re just his puppet when he forces your legs on his broad shoulders, spreading your thighs so wide open your muscles are sore and begging for mercy, but his hands will keep you as open as his cock splitting you in half. “That's it, keep singing for me, little bird.” His eyes never leave your face; he needs to see your face and how you’re wincing. Deep thrusts that make your whole body shake until your legs start to twitch uncontrollably. And don’t you think you’re in control when you’re straddling him, all you can do is take it as he looks regal, resting his head behind his arms, lazy fidgeting his fingers to drive you up and down his cock with his devil fruit. “Look at this little bird bouncing on my cock and whining like a crybaby.” Don’t even think about holding onto his abs for support, he will just tie you down. When he’s in the mood, he will turn your body into art, suspending you… before slamming inside you so hard you need to grip the ropes for support.
Dracule Mihawk
8.2 inches - big dick energy, dick as straight as his posture.
He got the prettiest cock you will ever see; in fact, before him, you never thought a dick could ever look pretty. He never bothered taking measures on his cock; it just sounded ridiculous in his mind. That man was just born confident; he never brags, no need to brag when you know what you're doing. And Mihawk always knows what he’s doing. When he’s sliding inside you, it feels like he’s putting you to death, inch after inch, stretching you out around his girth, circumcised tip bullying your inside, but don’t worry, to you, Mihawk only gives little death.
Missionary, mating press, ankle over shoulder.
Mihawk doesn't fuck. He hunts. With deadly precision. Each thrust is languid, meaningful, designed to spill out helpless moans from your mouth until you’re totally drugged out, reduced to a quivering, shivering mess under his lethal control. He wants you on your back, blending the world of intimacy and control in a way that makes your knees weak. Eyes always locked to yours as he thrusts inside you, in control, targeting all your weaknesses, making you feel each inch, each vein of his length, cold necklace covering your skin with goosebumps. He will always pin your wrists above your head, combining eye contact with control until he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, sliding even deeper inside you, still keeping you pinned down and at his mercy. “Eyes on me, don’t move,” He will say almost cruelly when you try to shut your eyes or struggle to keep it with his firm pace - for him, rough sex is not about fucking you fast and rough like a jackhammer, but rather deep enough to leave you empty and needy for days once he’s done with you. When he wants you even more helpless, he will smash your legs against your chest, folding you in half, your wrists either tied or pinned with one hand. Languid kisses that always leave you breathless, piercing gaze that makes you feel like he's fucking you even when he's perfectly still inside you.
Portgas D.Ace
6.4 inches - with a super cute sensitive pink tip
Slightly curved upward, perfect girth, tip always glistening with pre-cum, thick vein running down one side, smooth skin. It doesn’t matter if you’re giving him a head, jerking him off or taking him deep inside you, he will always give you the prettiest moans you have never heard - Ace moans are so beautiful, in the top 3 of One Piece men moans, and he’s not the third. “ You’re so perfect for me.” He always praises you, the cute freckles on his cheeks all flushed when you’re clenching around him, milking his cock until he lets out broken moans.
Just ride this man.
He just loves watching you bouncing on his length - his eyes can drink in every single inch of your skin, keeping eye contact; it soothes him to see how much you love him and how good his cock makes you feel as you fuck yourself on his length, lips open on silent screams while he holds your hips, hair fanning on his forehead and on the pillows, face flushed from neck to ears, pearls of his necklace clicking together whenever he lifts up to grab your neck and kisses you so deeply, pouring all the feelings he doesn’t know how to express into his kiss - before moaning in your mouth, filling you up with hot ropes of thick seed.
Rob Lucci
8 inches - with a curve as lethal as his attacks
“Stay still.” Voice so soft and smooth like velvet while he’s literally impaling you on his length, his claws keeping you pinned and helpless, reminding you that each squirm will be punished with a scratch, or a bite on your neck. The first time you undressed him, eyes widening in shock, he didn’t even bother blinking, just stared at you with a detached, predator gaze, voice flat. “Run away now if you're scared.” You didn’t run away, but even now, every single time, you’re crawling on the bed and Lucci just watches your struggles with a cold face before impaling you back firmly onto his length.
Hunting you doggy style.
He’s a predator. He loves playing with you. His favorite game is to have you on your hands and knees, back arched in the most cruel, sadistic angle, his hands digging into your flesh, his tall frame casting a shadow over you as he slides inside you, slowly, not by kindness but for predatory purposes. And then his favorite game begging, fucking you so deep your soul is leaving your body with each thrust, his tip punching against your sweet spot as if he was angry at it, until you start to crawl and squirm. He loves watching you struggle for a few seconds before gripping your hips tightly, slamming you right back on his length. He’s hunting until your hands give up, resting weakly on your forearms and when your arms are sore, you’re just reduced to a helpless mess, ass up, chest down. “Pathetic.” He snarls, pushing you flat against the mattress, ending you in prone bone, scratching you, biting you, leaving hickeys everywhere he can, keeping you pinned down, at his mercy, his long hair falling free on your broken frame.
Sabo
6.8 inches - twitching like hell, always happy to see you
Mushroom tip round and smooth but so fucking large, eager to choke you, just as Sabo always does with his fingers wrapped like a necklace around your throat. A grower that grows fast whenever you’re around, veins pulsing with need, cockhead always glistening with precum and throbbing even more when Sabo buries himself inside you. “Quit squeezing down so hard, sweetheart,” he whispers, while casually keeping you in a chokehold.
Mating press.
He’s folding you in half with an angelic smile, slamming so deep your eyes roll back with each thrust, your poor legs twitching and trembling. He just loves your drugged-out expression in this position, how you’re milking his cock, sucking him deeper. He can watch your face, his length sliding inside you, how your hole is clenching him so tight, but more importantly, he can wrap his fingers around your neck and admire your eyes turning blank and cheeks totally red as he chokes you to your heart’s content. You’re squeezing him so nicely when he chokes you, his eyes are shining with a twisted mix of lust, love and admiration, talking to you with a lovely voice that doesn’t match the obscenity he’s doing and saying to you.
Trafalgar Law
7.6 inches - flat ass, big dick, the true embodiment of skinny emo myth, trust me
He’s so twisted, he removed his foreskin just for the sake of science, but he will pretend he did it for real medical purposes. The girth is pretty average but that length can kill - the fact this dude is casually walking with a nodachi almost as big as him is a warning. Sadly, his tip isn’t black and dark as the emo he is, it’s a cute, deep shade of pink, little veins along that perfectly straight length because his cock is as rigid as his mind. “Stop staring,” he mutters, cheeks flushed as your mouth goes totally dry at the sight of length. His cock is unexpressive just like him, never really throbbing or twitching, but when it’s inside you, don’t worry, each vein is teasing you, that fat tip as well. A pure grower, I mean look at those tight skinny emo jeans he's always wearing, he is a grower.
As long as you’re on your stomach.
Intimacy is such a struggle, he just likes to keep you on your stomach and if you can please, keep your head buried in the pillow or the mattress. If you can’t, don’t worry, he’ll pin you down regardless. He loves to be in control, one hand on your lower back as leverage as you literally collapse flat on your stomach, his hips snapping forward with controlled thrusts - but sometimes he’s so rough it feels like he’s trying to fuck the insomnia out of his body. “What? I just want to see your face.” Whenever you furrow your eyebrows when he flips you on your back, because you know it only means one thing with such a teaser - he’s going to make fun of you as he edges you with that smug expression and annoying smirk. But honestly, what Law loves the most is just to make you cum with his fingers. “Try to hold back for more than 5 minutes if you want to have a taste of my mouth.” But the A & T are curled up so nicely inside you. On purpose. It’s so funny to see the pleasure blended with desperation in your gaze as you cum within 5 minutes. When he’s even more lazy, he will give you only the H.
Vinsmoke Sanji
6.6 inches - cute tip always glistening with precum
Smooth, velvety skin, not really veiny, average girth, twitching and throbbing with need whenever he looks at you for more than 10 seconds. It stands proudly, slightly curved upward just to please you better when he’s inside you, hitting your sweet spot so nicely it should be illegal. “You’re taking me so well,” he praises with his sweet voice, trying so hard to not cum in a blink whenever your tight warm clench around him. Shivers running down your spine whenever he buries his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his moans - pretty, pretty moans, in the top 3 prettiest moaners of One Piece with Ace.
Between your legs.
What do you mean living between your legs and driving you crazy with his mouth isn’t really a position? He doesn't mind, that’s what he loves the most. Licking you, sucking you, swallowing each single one of your orgasm until his jaws are so sore he has no choice but to give up. “You taste so good, I can’t help it…” While diving back between your legs, overstimulating you without even trying to, he just has an oral fixation. Will get all cute and pouty and ask like a good boy to have his perfect ass pounded. His ass is so juicy it's illegal, one of the prettiest ass of One Piece, maybe his ass is the One Piece. But if you really want him to take you, then missionary it is. He wants to offer you divine french kisses while rolling his hips in languid thrusts, even his hickeys are delicate and soft. His guilty pleasure? Watching you, nothing more, nothing else. Every part of your body is so mesmerizing he doesn’t know where to look. Sometimes, he likes spooning, especially for morning sex, and because his hands can wander on your skin.
Roronoa Zoro
6.4 inches - fat dick, you kinda want to cry
Probably did a dick contest with Sanji and was pissed off to see the 0,2 inches difference but then got that smug face because his girth is so scary it could leave you with a gaping hole if he was a sadist. Veins are pulsing with need, it almost looks like it’s mad at you, but if you say a comment about his dick, he’s going to blush so hard, such a lovely tomato with his green hair. Is either focused as if he was training, or lazy when he’s sliding inside you, stretching you out so wide open it’s almost obscene. “Cling onto my shoulders if ya want, I got ya.”
“That one where you’re on top”, “that one with your ass lifted up,” that one....”
Yes. That's how he’s talking. This man is living in his own world; he doesn’t even know sex position name. Honestly, sometimes he’s manhandling you so roughly he’s creating new positions without even trying to. “Come on, work that ass, don’t be lazy.” He grunts whenever you’re straddling him, reverse style; of course, he’s an ass man. Watching your cute ass bouncing on his cock, your hole clenching around his girth and his length disappearing inside you is probably one of his favorite views, so that’s why when he’s not lazy, he’s just fucking you doggy style, big muscles flexing each time he’s holding you in place, abs contracting so pretty, too bad you can’t see it. When he’s in the mood to face you, his usual go-to is to fold you in half in mating press, caging you in with his muscular frame, watching how wrecked you are as his hips snap against yours, sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room - the soft, delicate, metallic chimes of his earrings clasping together is a lovely contrast when your poor knees are almost brushing your ears. “Gotta focus on your stamina and stretching.”
Buggy
5.9 inches - brightening red tip just as his nose
Average size and girth, a red tip looking almost angry and always leaking with precum because even his dick is way too expressive. He’s such a whiny mess, his dick throbbing and pulsing, but your hands aren’t even touching him yet. His hips are jerky when he’s inside you, crying out your name so loudly you always end up stuffing his mouth with your underwear to make him shut up, but he keeps whining through the fabric, with big crybaby tears when he cum. Muffled “Mmpf” , but he’s probably whining about how good you feel.
Cringe king of weird positions
He’s a sub even if he will always pretend the opposite, so basically, he’s going to follow your lead - when he’s not asking to get his cute ass pounded... with his own dick as a strap. But if you let him indulge in his wildest desires, Buggy got quite the creativity. He’s a clown and has a nice devil fruit for show time and will use both shamelessly to fuck you in impossible angles and position, his hands bullying you, sometimes even his head isn’t attached to his neck anymore but just going down on you shamelessly while you impale yourself on his length. “What’s wrong, you’re not comfortable?” He’s asking without even teasing you, deadly serious, confused that NO, you’re not comfortable when your legs are angled in such weird positions it almost looks like you’re a ragdoll with broken bones.
Smoker
7 inches - he’s ready to tame you with his dick
“I don’t bite, you know?” Smoker is not stupid, he knows he doesn’t have to complain about his size, but he never gets what his partners are looking at him with such big eyes. Maybe he’s a bit taciturn, but he’s also kind. He’s not going to shove his cock down your throat without a warning. It stands proud and thick with big veins and heavy balls. When you’re kneeling in front of him, drooling down his length while he’s taking drag after drag of his cigars, he always looks at you with a gaze full of lust and tenderness - he will always tangle his hands in your hair. If you ask him to guide your head, he’s more than happy to indulge but will probably accidentally choke you on his cock, pushing his tip down your throat until you’re coughing. He was too lost in his pleasure.
Against the wall.
Poor man is always busy with work and missions. He’s a workaholic, that’s why he needs two cigars; one isn’t enough to get enough nicotine stuck in his lungs. When he comes back to you, he’s too impatient to reach the bedroom, he doesn’t even bother taking off his uniform, his big hands are just pinning you down against the wall, watching how your hole is trying to swallow all of him. “Fuck, you’re always gripping me so tight when I come home. Missed me, yeah?” Hot palms squeezing your ass cheeks, spreading them wide open until he gets tired of the view and flips you around, caging you with his massive frame, carrying you effortlessly and fucking you, your legs wrapped around his waist, back firmly pressed against the wall. He doesn’t moan, but damn, his raspy breaths are so pretty when he cum deep down inside you… as your body goes limp, he finally remembers about the bedroom and proceeds to fuck you again on the mattress, savoring the moment, taking his time.
King
20,8 inches - I don’t make the rules, he’s so tall.
Big bulbous brown head, it’s not just long and girthy, it’s also heavy, large balls hanging between his thighs, it could split you open, make you cry until you pass out. And yeah yeah, Alber got a prince albert and it stays on. Even behind his mask, he’s looking down at you with such disdain your gaze is locked on the floor. “You’re embarrassing.” He’s merciless, making sure you’re fully stuffed as he focuses solely on rearranging your guts, his hands on your stomach just to feel the bulge of his cock stretching you out beyond reliefs. “I knew human bodies were weak but yours is so ridiculously weak, it’s pathetic.” He’s a sadist; he loves the big tears running down your cheeks, torturing you, fucking you orgasm after orgasm, leaving you with a gaping hole, trembling legs, and a shaky body overstimulated and exhausted.
Prone bone.
One strong hand pinning your head on the pillow, massive length dragging over your ass cheeks, forcing you to arch your back, making you gasp and squirm already and it’s not even in. “You know I won’t be gentle, behave and take it.” His tone is dripping with dominance, strict, stern, but when he’s slamming inside you with angry thrusts, it almost sounds like he’s so mad at you and that damn weak body. But at least you’re entertaining, muffling moans, drooling on the sheets as he pounds into you from behind with rough, mean snap of his hips fucking your soul out of your body. “Choking on your moans, choking on my cock, choking on my name, are you trying to tell me you want my hands around your neck?” You don’t even have the time to answer, his fingers wrap around your throat, squeezing, keeping you still and at the very edge of passing out, heavy balls slapping against your ass. You're nearly a toy for him. But if you manage to handle him without whining and trying to crawl away, he will throw his mask on the bed, metal clinging loudly. “Don’t you dare look at me.” Before leaning down, beautiful, white long hair brushing your skin, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck or shoulders, his lips trailing kisses and hickeys everywhere, raspy, low, lovely moans against your ear. “Just like that, keep milking my cock and squeezing so tight like you won’t let me go.” That’s the closest loving, kind thing he will ever do or say when fucking you. The worst? You’re crying when he does so, his hair so soft, like silk against your skin, and his lips so soft. You wonder how his mouth can feel so good yet only speak so coldly and dirty. When he wraps an arm around your chest, you feel like you’re going to ascend, the sensation of his skin against your skin… is divine.
Sir Crocodile
10 inches - 0 curve, it looks strict and mean
Big head, prominent vein running along the underside, if you ever wonder if a dick could look down at you, now you know it’s possible. His cock is heavy as hell. Whenever you’re giving him a head, he will run his hook on the smooth skin of your neck and slap you if you dare to drool on him. But how aren’t you supposed to not drool when he’s stretching your mouth so wide open it leaves you with cramps. “Have some manners, you’re disgusting.” He loves to keep you on your knees while he works, looking down at you, blowing thick clouds of smoke while you try so hard to satisfy him.
Busy man, he’s bending you over his desk.
Whenever he needs some stress relief, he will either show you the desk with one thick finger, or just bend you over if you’re too slow for his liking, time is money. The rings stay on, digging in your flesh as he holds you in place, slamming inside you with a strict, firm pace. He won’t jackhammer, but each snap of his hips is so brutal it makes the desk shake regardless. And he will put the blame on you if some important papers are falling, so you better hold onto them tightly. For each paper falling, you get a mean spank. “Arch you back properly for me,” he commands, not even to appreciate the view of his cock ramming into you, but just to use the small of your back as an ashtray. He won’t manhandle you with his hand, but with his hook, wrapping it around your throat, your waist, running it along your skin is enough to make you obey.
Marco
6,4 inches - luckily the tip doesn’t look like a pineapple
The national birb doctor got the perfect curve to hit your sweet spot with each smooth thrust, making you feel the veins pulsing his need when he’s deep inside you. Girth is slightly above the average but not enough to split you in half. Just so you know, Marco knows what he’s doing, not only because he’s a doctor, but he has a fair amount of experience so don’t worry, you’re always in good hands with him. “Your hands are so pretty when they are wrapped around my cock.” He means it. Watching your hands when you’re jerking him off is always driving him crazy. Just for the sake of watching your pretty hands, he’s always letting you roll the condom onto his length.
AFAB reader: He has a boobs fixation, give this man a boobs job.
I just want to see your face.
Missionary and all its variants, mating press, carrying you against the wall, you on top, lotus… he doesn’t mind as long as he can watch your beautiful face. A big kisser, he’s so sad if he can’t kiss you and admires that expression of pure bliss when he’s bullying your sweet spot, sending shivers down your spine and making your body jolt. It's so steamy when he’s caging you under his frame, holding you tight and close, unfolding his wings to keep you in a warm, soothing embrace. “You’re always so perfect for me. You’re going to give me another orgasm, right?” If you have a mirror though, he’s not against doggy style - your reflection showing that lovely face of yours and the sight of your back arched while he’s gripping your hips, sliding inside you… is quite mesmerizing.
Killer
7 inches - veiny as hell
Oh, you thought Kid’s dick was girthy? Then you never saw Killer naked. Thick. Veiny. Circumcised. Tip is a deep shade of purple; it almost looks like he's secretly trying to match his tip color with his lipstick. When you run your fingers along his length, there’s a vein running along the right side that always drives him crazy. Unlike his captain, he’s a grower, not a shower. But damn, he’s packing. “If you keep gripping my hair like that, I’m going to lose control.” It doesn’t matter if he’s fucking you or going down on you, whenever you’re pulling on his beautiful blonde mane, it’s a total turn-on.
This man is picky, it’s so hard to see his face.
He can be so sweet, soft, and romantic or a total savage, but regardless, he’s a big fan of missionary. He loves the intimacy, the proximity, feeling your body beneath him, his hands can roam on every single inch of your skin… Sometimes he’s grabbing your legs, resting them on his broad shoulders to slam deeper inside you, reducing you to a quivering mess. All you can do is hold onto his hair as if it were your lifeline. Most of the time, if he’s fucking you in missionary, it means you’re wearing either a blindfold, or that he’s keeping his mask. When he’s not wearing his mask, then it means he’s fucking you from behind. He’s trusting you, so please, respect his will and do not try to turn your head, or you will lose his trust. Just enjoy the sensation of the sweat dripping from his forehead and big muscles flexing. “Fuck, you feel unreal.” This man is not afraid of moaning. Remember about Sanji and Ace? Killer got the prettiest moans with them. Low, husky moans. If you manage to win his trust, you might be able to drown into his ocean eyes and admire that beautiful face he’s hiding while he covers your neck with hickeys, smearing his lipstick everywhere he can.
Charlotte Katakuri
15,3 inches - sweet commander but not so sweet dick
Skin is surprisingly smooth with a few veins pulsing with need. Big boy with a big, heavy cock, but he’s almost shy when you wrap your hands around his length, his pale cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment, tip glistening with precum, balls aching with need. Katakuri is just a bit self-conscious. “… your mouth feels so good.” He’s almost shy when he’s praising you, confused between his tendency to always hide half of himself behind a scarf and the aching desire of your sweet, hot mouth drooling all over his length.
69 - He loves to use his mouth.
At first, he’s nervous, scared to injure you with his fangs, but whenever he’s using his mouth, he’s hungry as hell yet surprisingly cautious. He’s savoring your taste as if he was eating something delicious and sweet. His big hands are spreading your ass cheeks, squeezing your flesh, spanking you, just for the sake of listening to your cute moans as you try your best to stretch your mouth around his girth. “Just cum against my mouth one last time and I swear I’ll stop…” He’s begging, trying to pull another orgasm out of you, eager to swallow everything. You can be sure that every single time he’s fucking you, it always ends up with a messy creampie, his seed flowing down your thighs… and his tongue sucking you clean, swallowing his own seed, pushing it back inside you or tasting your taste mixed with his own.
Unlike Usopp, Shanks won’t mess around and round up to reach 8 inches, he’s going to say the really specific size without any care for privacy. This hobo with ugly ass shoes is so carefree it’s probably one of the first things he said when you two started to date. Shanks knows he’s packing, he’s shameless, but he won’t brag. He just knows his way around. “C’mere, gonna fill you up juuust niiiice.” Probably one of the most experienced dudes on this list, but he’s so unserious, with stupid dad jokes, you’re almost surprised when he kisses you so good your brain is melting. This man knows what he’s doing. He just likes to keep things light. For him, sex is supposed to be fun, not deadly serious, silent and boring.
Lazy ass, ride him.
First he’s lazy. Second, he loves to watch you bounce on his cock, chasing your own high. Third, let’s not forget about his missing arm. Last, this man is living for the sight of your body and his cock disappearing inside you with each roll of your hips. He’s looking at you with a smug face, hand glued to your ass whenever you’re not facing him. “Ride me, don’t be lazy, you can do better.” With another playful spank. Even if you being on top is his usual go-to because it’s easier for him, this man just loves fucking you. Against the wall, doggy style, on the ground, against the railing of his ship, in the middle of a loud party… he’s not that picky. If you want to laugh, he can try missionary but let’s be honest, it’s hard to hold that kind of position and keep his balance at the same time. “Alriiight, gonna move your ass or what? Unless you really want to see me falling on you like a poor lost seal.” He’s so silly but you don’t have the time to burst into laughter, he’s too focused on fucking you through another orgasm.
Donquixote Rosinante
11,5 inches - a gentle giant with a fat cock
It’s long, thick, but don’t worry, Corazon is a sweetheart. In fact, he’s always scared to hurt you, his big goofy hands so shaky when they rest on your hips or legs. Of course, his tip is sensitive, always leaking with precum. Smooth skin with little veins running along the sides. “You’re so good for me…” He’s always kissing you, smearing his lipstick on your cheeks, adorable moans falling free from his lips.
For your own good, ride him.
The truth is: Corazon has always been a bit goofy, but he turned even more goofy just to make the kids of the Family laugh. But now, it’s written in his DNA, he’s goofy even when he’s trying to be serious - so yes, even when he’s fucking you. Opening a condom wrapper? Thick, shaky fingers struggling to do so. Spreading some lube? Be sure the bottle is going to fall, lube flooding everywhere in the process. Taking off your clothes? He’s ripping them off, accidentally, unlike Lucci. So fucking you? Please, he’s so scared of literally crushing you under his weight. Just ride him, or he’s going to be super nervous the whole time. Plus, it’s quite satisfying to ride this giant, his face all flushed, hips stammering as you take him as deep as you can. “Don’t look at me or I’m just going to cum…” His cock is always throbbing and twitching inside you. A big kisser, a lover of hugs and aftercare. He has some kinks, of course, but he’s so shy about it. He’s a giver after all. If you indulge in his fantasies, he’s praising you so nicely, your heart is melting.
Bartolomeo
6 inches - with too many piercings
Girthy, veiny, hard in a blink whenever you’re around. But what’s interesting about him is the indecent amount of piercings he has. You never thought so many piercings were even possible on a dick. Sure, he has a prince albert. But not only. Magic cross, lorum, hafada, frenum, foreskin, dydoe, apadravya… you’re learning new names every day with him. And no, he won’t take them off. “Fuck, your tongue feels like heaven.” He’s a freak, he has no courtesy, but he’s also a simp, always worshiping you. Don’t worry, he knows how to use his piercings.
Full Nelson, mostly.
“Fuck, tremblin’ already?” He’s impaling you on his length, splitting you open, holding you tight, his fangs plunging into the soft flesh of your neck or dirty talking you. Big arms flexing as he holds the underside of your knees, slamming you down onto his cock hard enough because the sound of skin slapping against skin is his favorite music. You’re clenching like a vice around him, struggling to stretch around his girth, but those piercings are hitting all your sensitive spots. Once you’re wrecked, he will manhandle you like a ragdoll, flipping you on your stomach or back, feasting on your neck, covering your skin with bites, hickeys, scratches, printing in his memory your strained face, half-lidded eyes fluttering close every time his piercings are bullying your inside. He's a fucking freak yet an absolute sweetheart at the same time.
Usopp
5,5 inches - but will say 6 inches
Poor Usopp is way too self-conscious so he rounds up to 6, but honestly, he’s not small, just average length and girth, with a glistening brown tip and a few nice veins. Adorable moans when you’re jerking him off, shaky hands yet light-feathered touch whenever he’s touching you - so carefully, always afraid to mess up. “Am I doing this right?” It is probably the thing you will hear the most from him. He just needs a bit of guidance and reassurance. Let’s not forget this man is creative and has some good eyes. With enough patience and kindness, he will manage to map all your body and learn all your weaknesses.
Spooning is so soft.
It’s sweet, he can kiss you on the back of your neck, targeting all those weaknesses he cautiously learned. The only thing that annoys him is probably his nose. As long as he can hold you, he’s not too picky. You being on top is nice because he’s sure to not mess up, his focus split between how beautiful you look and fingers brushing your skin softly to make you feel just nice. The feeling of skin against skin is pure paradise to him, so lotus is nice as well, it’s sensual, steamy, he’s feeling the gentle beats of your heart. “You’re making me feel so good…” He’s remembering every single detail of you, not only to please you, but also to draw you. Will randomly draw you whenever he has some time and then show it to you, as a reminder of how beautiful you are when consumed by bliss.
⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ please, reblog, like, comment if you like my work.
much like the harrow and lestat fic, you can blame this one on my brain, which loves to toss spicy dreams at me about actors/characters i’d never really thought twice about until i’m lowkey a little obsessed. ah well. it was fun to write for a villain again >:)
would love to write more for henry so here’s my request info (including my dos and don’ts) if anyone wants to send prompts!
MINORS DNI
tw: manipulation, dubcon (just to be safe), implied virgin!henry, alternating povs
ao3
once you seep in (henry creel x gn!reader, stranger things)
You don’t remember how you wound up here.
The thought strikes you occasionally, though less and less as the days go by, and mostly only when Henry has departed and left you to your own devices for longer than a few hours. Long enough for loneliness to start creeping in. How you arrived here, at the massive, sun-drenched, stately home you now found yourself occupying.
You try to recall anything beyond the scrape of your heels on the walkway and the gentle breeze rustling through the trees on the day Henry had first brought you here, but there’s just… nothing. A blank spot in your memory, like a canvas wiped clean.
It’s as if you’d blinked, tucked beneath your bedcovers in one moment and stepping into sunlight in the next, slender fingers wound around yours and Henry’s lilting voice welcoming you to your new home.
Home.
Home used to mean solitude, lonely meals and long hours at the library. No one to welcome you when you slid into bed at night. Now it means warmth, safety. Sunlight.
Company.
Most of the time, anyway, you think with a sigh, peering out the windows from your perch on the sitting room settee. You spent most of your time there, curled up beneath a blanket with some book or other (usually one of your favorites, many of which you had been thrilled to discover tucked away on Henry’s bookshelves).
Henry had left again, departing on one of his errands - errands of which you knew next to nothing about, only that they were important and imperative that he complete alone, despite your many protests to the contrary.
It had been three days since you’d seen him last, the longest stretch of time he had been away since your arrival to the house, and though there’s plenty to keep you occupied in his absence - a well-stocked kitchen, more books than you could ever hope to read, the radio on the mantel to listen to your favorite tapes should the mood strike you - by the second day of solitude you’re all but climbing the walls, spending more time staring out the window in anticipation of seeing Henry’s familiar silhouette strolling up the walkway than actually doing anything productive.
As night looms at the end of day three, the world outside awash in thickening shadow, you decide that you’ve reached the end of your rope.
“Something has to be wrong,” you mutter to yourself, pacing in tight circles within the foyer and shooting nervous glances out the stained glass window fitted into the front door. “Henry’s never been gone this long before.”
What if he’s hurt? The woods beyond are dangerous; Henry had told you so himself, firmly warning you away from ever crossing their borders.
“There are creatures who call these woods home” he had said, gripping your hand tightly between both of his. “Dangerous creatures who would do you harm, or far worse.” You had shivered at the intensity of his gaze, dread creeping over you at the thought of formless shadow creatures lurking among the trees, intent on chasing you down should you ever cross their path. “Promise me that you will never go there,” Henry had urged you, squeezing at your hand whenever you failed to answer quickly enough. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” you’d vowed, heart leaping into your throat as Henry had smiled at you and lifted your captured hand to his mouth, lips brushing along your knuckles.
“Good,” he’d murmured, and then he’d gone, the first of many sojourns beyond the bounds of his property, each more taxing to your heart than the last.
You would feel so much better if you knew he was alright. Unharmed. It’s the waiting that really tears at you, the silence and solitude creeping into the edges of your mind no matter how loudly you play the radio or tinker at the keys of Henry’s piano or clang the cutlery as you try to choke down a meal.
Without Henry, the house is too large and empty and quiet. You don’t think you can stand another moment inside its walls with just your own thoughts for company, especially with the nagging feeling in the back of your mind that something is wrong.
You jerk to a stop, swallowing past the lump of nerves in your throat as your eyes follow the shadow of the sinking sun drifting across the floorboards. You can’t just stay here pacing all night. You have to - need to - find Henry.
Steeling your shoulders, you stride to the front door and reach for the handle, only allowing yourself a moment’s hesitation before you twist the knob and fling yourself out into the encroaching night -
- only to gasp as you crash into Henry’s chest, hands coming up instinctively to grip at his waist for balance and heart rate climbing as his hands come up to grasp at your shoulders in return.
“Henry!” you call, happy, relieved, only to falter at the serious look on his face, lips set in a thin line and eyes sharp behind his lenses.
“You were leaving,” he remarks lowly, his tone just shy of accusatory and his frame stiff.
You’ve angered him, you realize, swallowing around a lump in your throat.
“I was just looking,” you stammer, hyper aware of the weight of his fingers around your shoulders. “Looking for you, I mean.” Your palms twitch against his belt loops, pulse beating uncomfortably at the base of your throat. Why are you so nervous? “I’m sorry, I know you warned me about leaving but - but it’s been three days, Henry. I was worried.”
Henry’s gaze flits over your face, almost as though he’s searching for something, before his expression clears.
“I see,” he murmurs, his hold around your shoulders lightening but not releasing. Instead, his thumbs drift along your collarbone, bringing a rush of warmth to your face. “You were worried about me. Is that it?”
Your tongue suddenly feels heavy in your mouth. Now that you’re certain Henry isn’t upset with you, it’s difficult to ignore how close he is, or that your fingers have yet to relinquish their hold on his waist. “Of course! I was afraid you’d gotten hurt or - “ Or worse, you find yourself unable to finish, lips twisting in a grimace. “You were gone a long time, Henry.”
Henry dips his head, abashed, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his handsome face. “I apologize. Time simply got away from me. Still, I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long.”
“It’s alright,” you reassure him, surreptitiously glancing him over. He looks as immaculate as always, not a thread or hair out of place, and your shoulders sink with relief. It seems you’d worried for nothing.
Henry tilts his head. “Is it, truly?” he asks, lifting a hand to touch your cheek. You suck in a breath at the contact, resisting the urge to sink into the warmth of his palm. He’s never touched you like this before. “You were lonely,” he asserts knowingly, and you nod, unable to deny it. Henry’s lips curl at your candor. “Poor thing,” he croons, stroking your cheek. “How can I make it up to you?”
His words, tender and coaxing, make your mouth run dry. “I don’t know,” you begin, only for Henry to shake his head and shift even closer, torso bumping gently against yours.
“Oh, come now,” he huffs, thumb drifting along the hinge of your jaw. “There has to be something you’d like? Something you want?”
Your heart thumps as you realize there is in fact something you want - something you think you’ve wanted ever since Henry first introduced himself to you, so soft-spoken and enigmatic, in the library.
“A new book?” Henry ponders thoughtfully, regarding you with gleaming eyes. Knowing eyes.
Eyes that tell you they know exactly what it is you want.
“Clothes, perhaps?” he continues, and you swallow hard as his thumb catches against your bottom lip. “No, nothing so trite as that. Perhaps what you want - what you desire most in this world - is me.”
“Henry,” you breathe, stricken as your desires are laid so bare.
“There’s no need to be coy,” he promises, his other hand rising to bracket your face. Caught within his orbit, there is no where else for you to go. Nowhere to hide. “Not here. Not anymore. You know that, don’t you?”
Despite the racing of your heart, you nod. You’re safe here, Henry had told you. Free of judgement. Free of fear. Free of loneliness, if you would just admit to it - to what you truly want.
“I want you,” you croak, gripping at his vest as the gravity of what you’re saying settles over your shoulders.
Behind his lenses, Henry’s eyes gleam. “Then allow me to give you what you want.”
*
I want you.
Henry had wondered when you would finally admit to it, your desire lingering so closely to the surface of your mind that he was astounded it had taken you until his extended absence to act upon it.
There’s certainly no denying it now, not with the way your breath hitches as he takes you by the hand and guides you back into the house, slipping free of his suit jacket and hat and depositing them on the rack by the door. You watch his every move with such single-minded focus, and Henry can scarcely suppress his smile as he leads you into the sitting room, your need such a palpable thing he can practically feel it.
Allowed free reign by his gentle coaxing, your desire is eclipsed only by the aching loneliness he had sensed within you on your first meeting - the very thing that had first drawn him to you. Tempted him to you.
Tugging at the buttons on his cuff, Henry sinks onto the settee, but not before taking note of the blanket tossed over the arm and the pile of books piled on the side table. He wonders how long you had been keeping vigil there, keen eye pointed to the treeline as you awaited his return. Perhaps as soon as he’d left.
The thought brings along with it a heady rush of satisfaction, and as he works the sleeve of his shirt up over one forearm and then the other, Henry catches your eye.
“Come here,” he coaxes you, hand held aloft, and with only a moment’s hesitation, you comply, approaching the settee and folding your fingers through his.
You gasp as he tugs you into his lap, knees splaying awkwardly over his thighs and hand clutching at his shoulder for balance.
“Did I startle you?” he teases at the bewildered look on your face, tugging at the knot of his tie until it hangs loose around his collar. Your pulse jumps in your throat as you trace the skin he’s bared for you. “Is this not what you wanted?”
“No, it’s - “ You shift nervously on top of his lap, seemingly afraid to allow yourself to slump into his hold the way he knows you so desperately want to. Henry waits, knowing the words will come - knowing that you will not hide from him, because you simply cannot. Not here. “I want it,” you finally confess in a small, strained voice, and Henry smiles.
“Then take it,” he returns simply, tilting his head and regarding you with patient expectation behind his lenses.
Swallowing roughly, you lift your hand from his shoulder, fitting your fingers along the curve of his cheek and ducking your head to touch your mouth to his. Even that light brush of your lips against his is enough to pull a tiny, wanting sound from you. You have been waiting for this, yearning for it, for so long, haven’t you? How generous of Henry, then, to gift it to you.
He lets you set the pace, allows the slow exploration of his mouth with patient coaxing, tilting his head to accommodate the lengths of your noses and cupping a bracing hand against the small of your back while you settle more firmly atop his lap.
As you grow comfortable, eager, Henry indulges in some exploration of his own, relying more on instinct than experience to guide his lips against yours. Tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue coaxes a whimper from your throat and, emboldened, Henry pushes forward, tasting you, truly, for the first time.
Salt and citrus bloom along his tongue, remnants of whatever meal you had prepared yourself earlier in the day, and Henry huffs through his nose as he maps the softness of your palate and the ridges of your teeth. The wet drag of muscle along slick, soft flesh sends a thrill through him he hadn’t quite expected, and his brows furrow as heat begins to pool in his belly, cock swelling against the seam of his trousers.
Henry knows you’re in a similar state, your thighs shifting restlessly against his. Curious, he drags the fingers poised at your back over the swell of your hip, along your abdomen, down, down -
You jolt as he nudges your waistband, breaking away from his mouth to watch his face, chest heaving as you work to regain the breath you’d lost.
“More?” he asks you, walking his fingertips along the hem of your shirt, dipping beneath to touch the strip of hot skin above your waistband.
Your breath stutters, lips full and wet from his mouth, his teeth and tongue. You nod.
Henry holds your gaze as he slips his fingers beneath your waistband, watching the way your lips part on a sigh as his nails rake through wiry curls.
Watches your lashes flutter as his fingertips catch against your sex, hot to the touch and already beading with slick.
Watches your head fall back as he begins to stroke, his touch light and teasing, the pads of his fingers quickly turning damp with your fluids.
So this is what it feels like, he thinks distantly, grunting softly at the friction of his trousers against his swollen cock. So this is all it takes.
“Go on,” he breathes, wrapping his other hand around your thigh and squeezing in time with each stroke. “Take it.”
You sob his name, pushing your lips against his as his fingers increase their pace, tracing the length of your sex with each pass and rubbing circles against sensitive flesh. The slick glide of hot flesh sparks along his nerves like wildfire, his eyes locked on the sight of his fingers buried beneath your waistband and the wet gape of your mouth as he wrings cry after cry from your throat.
“Tell me you won’t leave again,” he urges you, clutching at your thigh hard enough to sting. “Tell me you won’t try.”
You shake your head, bereft of words or simply too frenzied to speak them, hips pumping relentlessly as you chase your pleasure. Henry can feel his body straining toward the same perilous peak, cock pulsing against the seam of his trousers, and his lashes flutter as he draws you down against him, working his fingers faster along your sex until your every breath is a sob.
“You won’t, will you?” He pants against your cheek, fingers clenching tight around your thigh. “You would never put yourself in harm’s way like that, would you? Darling thing. I couldn’t stand it.”
You keen at his words, grinding into his hand and spreading slick over his palm. “I won’t,” you promise, the words a wet gasp on your tongue. “I promise, Henry, just - oh, oh god, I - “
Your voice breaks as you come, hips twitching violently and sex pulsing wetly against his fingertips. Henry clutches at your thigh as he follows you over the edge, spilling into his trousers with a soft grunt and a vague curiosity of what it might feel like to spend himself inside you, instead.
“Oh, Henry, Henry,” you breathe his name as if in a daze, whimpering against the curve of his jaw as he tugs his hand free of your waistband and curls damp fingers around the back of your neck.
“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down against him. You go without a fight, cheek slumping against his shoulder and fingers clutching bonelessly at his vest, the distant clicking of a clock joining the chorus of your breaths, heavy, sated. Serene.
Henry turns his head, parting his lips against your crown.
“Soon,” he murmurs. “Soon there will be others joining us. Others I have saved.”
You breathe softly against his collar, fatigued but not yet asleep. Listening, rapt, as you always do when he speaks to you.
“You’ll help me look after them, won’t you?” he asks, running a soothing hand down the curve of your spine. “Keep them safe?”
“Of course,” you return softly, eagerly, even as your body tumbles toward sleep, growing soft and still in his arms. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me, Henry.”
Henry smiles, pressing a kiss against your brow. “I knew you would.”
Did not expect that last post to blow up like that, like?? Thank you??
You're all amazing and I love you.
Almost as much as I love this sassy asshole.
I mean look at him.
So anyway here's a ton of romancey headcannons, both fluffy and spicy, definitely NSFW.
LA!Mihawk X Fem!Reader
L'alphabet d'Amour:
Dracule Mihawk
A — Afterglow (How are they after sex?)
You're having a bath together. This is not up for debate.
He's going to get it started and carry you to the bathroom.
Candlelight, wine.
Probably not much talking, but he'll wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back against him, and trail kisses down your neck and your shoulders.
B — Backrubs? (Do they like them? Like giving them?)
Not really likely to initiate it on a whim unless he knows you're hurting.
He won't say no if you ask.
If he's sore and exhausted from training or fighting and you give him a massage, you're probably going to be getting a lot more than a massage in return.
Soft sighs and words of praise.
"You are an absolute treasure, my love."
C — Cuddling (Do they enjoy cuddling a lot ot only at certain moments?)
Again, he isn't likely to initiate it outside the bedroom, but if you drop yourself into his lap he's not going to turn you away.
Pulling you closer by your waist and brushing your hair away from your eyes.
Gettle kisses at your temple, the top of your head, your hands.
He's more iffy about it in public or when other peoole are present, and might be a little tense about doing more than having his arm around your waist while walking.
D — Dance (Are they good at it? Do they enjoy it?)
His grace and poise in swordfighting transfers directly to dancing.
It isn't exactly a hobby, but in the corrrect setting he enjoys it uwith you.
Strong preference for slow-dancing.
Holding your waist and cradling your hand gently in his his, gazing into your eyes in a way that makes your knees weak.
That little smirk when he notices you getting hot under the collar.
Leaning in to murmur in your ear, his hand slipping behind you to caress the back of your thigh.
"Now now...don't get too worked up, little one. We are still in public."
Soft kisses at your jaw and your neck when no one is looking.
E — Extravagant Genstures (Things they do to make you feel loved, things they appreciate you doing.)
He loves buying you things. Clothes, jewelry, perfume. Almost anything you mention wanting in front of him, he's going to find time to get it.
Taking you out for the evening to expensive restaurants and hotels, keeping an arm around your waist to make sure everyone knows you're his.
Possessive but not controlling—at least not outside of bed.
F — Fighting (How do they hand arguments/apologies?)
He ALWAYS has to be right. He doesn't like admitting he's wrong, but he will do so begrudgingly if he actually is.
He will apologize first if he has to—he doesn't like having you mad at him.
Silence doesn't normally bother him at all, but you giving him the silent treatment will drive him absolutely crazy.
"Would you just say something, woman? I prefer you yelling to this petty nonsense."
The make-up sex is absolute fire.
As if he isn’t the king of petty nonsense.
G — Getting Hot (What they do to turn you on, things you do that gets them riled up)
He doesn't beat around the bush—he has no problem worh pulling you to him, looking you in the eyes, and telling you he wants you.
Trails his fingers down your arms, your neck.
Deep, firm kisses, pressing you up against the wall.
He doesn't do much dirty talking, prefering to keep his nouth occupied with other things—but if you start talking dirty in his ear, there's not going to be much teasing before he's dragging you into bed (if you even make it that far).
Knowing how badly you want to touch him but pinning your hands above your head anyway.
H — Heartache (How would they handle it if you broke up with them?)
Completely devastated, though not showing it to anyone.
There's going to be a lot of wine involved.
Thinking of ways to win you back, though uncertain if or when it would be appropriate to attempt.
Seeing you in public and struggling not to just pull you to him and kiss you.
I — Intimacy (When are they intimate with you? And how often?)
He strongly prefers to be physically intimate in a private setting.
He has enough self-control not to be all over you 24/7, but he loves touching you and shows it plenty.
Sneaking up behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist, brushing your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck.
Whispering or murmuring sweet things in your ear.
Gazing into your eyes like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen.
"You are a living goddess, my love."
J — Joker (How do they make you laugh?)
Usually it's his dry sarcasm. He's not the type to crack jokes but some of the one-liners that leave his mouth put you on the floor.
Undisputed king of shit-talking and insults.
"I envy everyone that has never met you."
It's fun to spout of stupid useless facts in front of him because the look on his face when his brain short-circuits always gives you a good giggle.
"Somewhere in the world, there exists a tree with the single purpose of replacing the oxygen you consume. I suggest you find it and apologize."
K — Kissing (How good? How often?)
It's not as if he can't keep his lips off of you, but he typically always gives you at least a peck on the lips or the cheek when you or he enters the room.
His kisses are deep and intense and tend to leave you breathless.
When you're getting intimate, he kisses every inch of your skin he can reach.
"You taste divine."
L — Lay down (How do they sleep with you? Are they cuddler or do they prefer their space?)
He loves falling asleep with you against him.
His arm under your neck and curled around your back, holding you against his side or his chest.
Combing his fingers through your hair as you drift off to sleep.
Pulling your hand up from his chest to press a kiss to it.
He doesn't say it constantly, but he always whispers "I love you" just before you fall asleep.
M — Making babies (Do they want to settle down and have kids?)
No kids.
Mihawk does not have the patience to deal with small boisterous humans.
He has never considered having children.
N — Nervous? (How confident are they when it comes to romance?)
Very confident, but not to the point if arrogance...usually.
Mihawk knows ehat he wants and he knows how to get it.
He doesn't beat around the bush or take half-measures.
If he knows you want the same thing—whether it's a kiss, a steamy make-out session, or hours of passionate love-making, he has no problem being the one to initiate.
O — Oral Fixation (Giving or recieving? And how good are they?)
He insists in being the dominant one in any intimate scenario, so he tends to be more of a giver.
Keeps his eyes glued to yours while he's trailing kisses down your body and up your thighs.
It's unheard of him to not have you moaning and calling his name within a minute flat.
No teasing or stopping right before you orgasm—he will literally make you cum until you pass out if you don't tell him to stop or slow down.
He isn't going to complain about recieving—but he always stops you before he can lose control, to either return the favor or fuck you senseless.
P — Pet Peeves (Things they don't like in a partner)
Questionable persinal hygeine. He's always clean and well-groomed and he values the same in his lover.
Uncleanliness in general, e.g. leaving trash or dirty dishes lying around.
Being indirect or aloof about your emotions. He doesn't mince words and he would strongly prefer you didn't either.
Q — Quiet Time (How much alone time do they need, or do they want to be with you 24/7?)
He doesn't utterly require that you be around him at all times, but it doesn't bother him if you want to be.
Don't bother him when he's training either, unless it's to request to train with him. He won't always agree to it, but he doesn't mind it sometimes.
Don't bother him while he's reading. He doesn't mind if you want to snuggle up next to him, but don't be distracting.
R — Romance (How romantic are they? Do they have to force it or dies it come natural?)
Romantic isn't his default setting, but when the mood strikes him he can and will make you feel like a goddess.
Candlelit dinners and expensive wine.
Laying out a blanket outside amd stargazing between tender kisses.
Making love on a bed covered in rose petals.
"You are my greatest treasure, little one."
Intimate, tender whispers against your skin.
S — Spending Money (How much do they like to spend on you?)
Being a pirate lord he's filthy rich, so he doesn't give a second thought about buying you things
If he sees a dress/outfit he'd like to see on you in a shop window, he doesn't hesitate to purchase it.
He buys you lingerie pretty regularly, in part because seeing you in lace or nylon more often than not leads to him tearing it off of you.
He gets quite baffled if you tell him he's spending too much on you.
"A beautiful woman deserves beautiful things."
He isn't going to stop, so it's better you just get used to it and enjoy it.
T — Trust (Are they trusting of you? Jealous?)
He trusts you implicitly—you wouldn't be his lover if he didn't.
That being said, he doesn't take kindly to other men looking at you or attempting to flirt with you, and he will make it known that you're his.
Even if that means grabbing you and kissing you in the middle of a crowded tavern, staking his claim for all to witness.
Too much PDA makes him a bit uncomfortable, but he doesn't want other men eyeing you like a piece of meat, either.
U — Underwear (What kind do they wear, and what kind do they like on you?)
Boxer-briefs. He's hung and he knows it, and he likes showing it off in the tighter fit of underwear.
He loves seeing you in sheer, lacy bras and panties almost as much as he loves tearing them off of you.
Caressing and playing with you through the fabric until your panties are completely soaked and you're begging for more.
V — Vulnerable (How vulnerable are they with you? Is it easy for them to open up to you?
Mihawk isn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he's as open and honest with you as he can be.
You're the only person he lets himself be even remotely vulmerable around.
When it comes to his past he's an open book.
He'll answer any questions you have while he holds you close, his arm around your waist and your head resting against his shoulder.
W — Wine and Dine (Do they prefer meals at home or going out with you? Who does more of the cooking?)
While he very much enjoys taking you out to classy, expensive restaurants, he loves the sight of you flitting around the kitchen.
He isn't much of a cook, but if you ask for assistance with anything he'll do his best.
He doesn't make it horribly obvious, likely reading a book or the newspaper and sitting somewhere nearby, but he can barely keep his eyes off of you.
X — X-Rated (How good are they in bed? What do they like?)
He's an incredible lover—passionate, intense, attentive, and with the stamina that comes from years of strength and ensurance training.
Making you scream his name is one of his favorite passtimes.
He likes to pick you up and carry you to bed.
How rough he is relates directly to how wound up he is—he might lay you down gently and follow, trailing kissed down your neck.
Or he might throw you onto the bed, kiss you hard enough to bruise your lips while he's quickly amd deftly tugging your clothes off.
Not much talking, since his mouth is too busy, but he might murmur a few soft words of encouragement and praise against your skin now and again.
"That's it, goddess. Break for me."
"I can't wait to be inside you. I've craved you all damned day."
Trailing kisses down your body, his hands resting at your hips.
He wastes very little time, tightening his grip on your hips, his eyes glued to yours so he can watch you come apart.
Licks slowly up your wet folds before sucking your clit into his mouth, with a quiet purr of approval when you moan softly at the sensations his skilled tongue sends through you.
Unyielding and unrelenting—he loves when you grip at his hair and grind against his tongue, loves feeling how wet you get as he pushes two fingers deep inside you, pressing them against your g-spot until you're arching off the bed and he's shoving you back down by your hips.
He only stops when you beg for more of him, sitting up on his knees and pulling your body to him by your hips—pulling you right now onto his thick shaft with a quiet grunt, filling you in one firm, deep thrust. He loves hearing you beg, but he never makes you wait for long.
He prefers positions where he can look into your eyes, and see the exact moment when you shatter.
Pulls you up onto your knees to stradle him in the middle of your orgasm, kissing your neck while you cling to him and moan in his ear, lowering his head to capture one of your sensitive nipples in his mouth just to prolong the high of your pleasure for as long as possible.
Guides your hips with his hands, onto his cock again and again, shuddering slightly at the sensation of your inner walls gripping at him.
Being the one in control of your pleasure makes him *weak*, and he always gives everything he has when he makes love to you.
Multiple rounds, with deep, slow kisses and caressess between each one.
He strongly prefers to cum inside you, kissing you deeply and with soft groans against your lips, rolling his hips in time with each pleasurable throb.
He can go all night—you have to be the one to tell him when you're too spent to keep going, or he *will* make you pass out from sheer overexertion.
Y — Yearning (How long will they pursue the person they're interested in before losing interest?)
Absolutely loves the thrill of the chase. If he knows you aren't interested, he won't pressure you.
But if you're playing hard to get just to get under his skin, it drives him wild, and he'll keep it up however long it takes to have you.
His advances are subtle—soft, temder touches.
Lowering his voice to an intimate murmur.
Like a hawk sizing up its prey before swooping in for the kill.
Coming within a breath of your lips touching and pulling back from it.
Z — Zen (What do they do to wind down and relax? Do they prefer to do it alone or with you?)
An afternoon nap is probably his favorite way to wind down.
If you're not nearby, he will find you and pull you to the nearest bed, armchair, couch, hammock, or any other such appropriate furniture.
Hold you against his chest and brush his lips to your temple, breathing in your scent and lacing his fingers with yours.
Watch you fall asleep ahead of him.
He also reads a bit to relax, and as long as you don't interupt him he enjoys having you close.
Particularly if you lie down woth your head in his lap with your own book.
Combing his fingers absently through your hair between turning pages.
